


Books

by EagleHunter9



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Attempted Seduction, BAMF Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Banter, Books, Casual Sex, Crack, Daedric Princes (Elder Scrolls), Denial of Feelings, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, How did we get here?, Humor, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, Light Sadism, Oral Sex, Poor Lydia, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, SO MUCH BANTER, Scars, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Solitude (Elder Scrolls), Sort Of, Started with a Kinkmeme Prompt, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink, and makes Miraak write smutty fiction for her, and then, everyone is stubborn, feelings what feelings, it wasn't supposed to be much plot or plot, the Dragonborn is obssessed with books, things getting destroyed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EagleHunter9/pseuds/EagleHunter9
Summary: It started with a seemingly innocent question. "Have you read all the books here?" The Dragonborn asked."This space contains all the volumes written in the continent since the age of Dragons, and I have read them all.""The Sultry Argonian Bard!"Miraak blinked. "What?" He couldn't have possibly heard right.A grin worthy of a Khajiit split her face. "Have you read even that?""Ellya Erdain is untalented scum. I myself have written far more entertaining things in my life."---Or, the one where Miraak makes the mistake of implying that he can write excellent smut, and ends us finding out just how serious the Last Dragonborn was about books. And just how far she was willing to go for those that captured her interest.
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak
Comments: 43
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So, a long time ago I wrote a little one-shot in response to a kink meme prompt (the Dragonborn asked Miraak if he ever read 'The Sultry Argonian Bard' on their first meeting) that later turned into a 128K story. That story was posted on Fanfiction and is still there (without all the explicit parts, of course). But, since this is was a really fun story to write and I got so many positive responses, I decided I want to re-visit it and re-write it. After all, the first original chapter was written around 7 years ago. I hope people can enjoy the new version of 'Books', now with hopefully far less writing mistakes and plot-holes, and all the explicit scenes as well. I've not really posted much on the Archive, and I get the feeling that I'm really bad at tagging, but I'll do my best to get the hang of it. 
> 
> **The original story is complete and had 57 chapters (most of them quite short, really), and I will try to post regularly. Since I'm re-writing the process is quite a bit faster than if I was writing from scratch, so I hope not to leave people waiting for too long!**

There was a strange buzzing sound in the air, a low vibration shaking the old temple's walls. The Dragonborn wasn't sure what caused it. An earth tremor, perhaps? That would have been natural— them being underground and all —, but the rumble did not seem to come from the stone around them. It made the woman far more caution than the usual undead and traps.

It was with sharp eyes and strained ears that the Dragonborn stepped into the great opening at the end of the tunnel. Inside the new circular room, the first thing to draw the eye in were the overlapping round panels on the floor. Other than their uniques shape, they were also covered in carvings. The design of the inter-most circle was rich in detail and purely decorative.

There were patterns carved into the walls as well. Fragmented, interweaving vines of stone arranged in tall, black arches. There was something eerie about those vines. If one stared at them for too long, they seemed to start to move as if they were alive.

The entire room was far too extravagant. It was not something one would expect to find in the underground ruin, given the state of the spaces she'd seen so far.

To make things even stranger, a plinth stood erected in the very centre of the circles, tall and looming. The top of its body was an odd ornamental shape. It resembled something between a bird and a bat. On the left, the yellow glow of a torch filtered through from behind a door leading to who-knew-where. The light cast strange shadows and illuminated the object on display in the centre of the room.

A book. Ancient and bound in black leather, collecting dust on its grotesque pedestal. Taunting the woman with its secrets.

The uncanny vibrations and the caress of magic in the humid air were easily forgotten at the sight of such a prize.

"There are dark magics at work here. Ready yourself." Her Skaal companion half-shouted, but the Dragonborn was not deterred.

Frea's words of warning became white noise in the Dragonborn's ear as she rushed forward. Her fingers were itching to pick up the strange book and absorb its knowledge.

It was no secret that Malvina had always had a thing for books. She'd been born with a thirst for knowledge and an obsessive personality. Her tendency to hoard many rare and not-so-rare tomes was only a natural consequence of that. From biographies to spell-books, alchemy journals to diaries, and everything else in between. If it was written on paper or parchment, Malvina wanted to read it. Wanted to _own_ it. There was nothing more exhilarating than the promise of finding a new book or scroll to add to her collection.

And, sure, maybe her compulsion was a bit contra-productive, given her line of work. Orc stronghold and bandits-infested caves where not the sort of places where you should get distracted. Especially not by reading materials.

As if Malvina could be bothered with such small concerns. The tome in front of her was radiating power, and the Breton stretched her hand to touch it.

"This book…it seems wrong, somehow." Frea's voice interrupted the Breton's bonding moment with the black book. "Here, yet…not. It may be what we seek." Malvina sent a glare from under the hood of her armour, but it must have been too dark for the Nord to notice. Her companion continued to talk nonsense. "Perhaps you shouldn't touch it…" Malvina's first impulse was to laugh in the Skaal's face. Divines, why did she have to end up with the paranoid ones all the time!? Everyone knew books weren't _evil_ , they just… weren't! The Breton gave a small shake of her head and shoved past her companion. Then, she did the reasonable — _perfectly harmless, really_ — thing and reached for the book.

She traced the design of the heavy cover, admiring its unique texture. When she opened the book, her leather-clad hands handled the tome with more care than they did most people, wary of damaging the old parchment. And by Mara, for an item so old, it was in perfect condition. No ripped corners, spilt ink of faded words! Malvina felt herself become foolishly giddy. Her native curiosity, once aroused, was impossible to ignore, powerful and demanding. So powerful that, had she known what would happen next, she would have probably acted the same way anyway.

Greedily, Malvina took in the bold black text…

_'The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation…'_

…and found herself falling. She was being pushed outside her own body and into the book itself. Darkness took over and Malvina could feel herself struggle instinctively.

_'The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation…'_

_'The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation…'_

The words repeated themselves in her mind in strange, disembodied voices. Darker voices than the ones she was used to hearing near Word Walls. Less human than even the chanting of the dragon-priests. Had Malvina not been feeling so frustrated that she'd only managed to read a few words before her world went black, she might have found it disturbing.

Or maybe not. Once three or so Daedric Princes got into your head, few things could disturb you anymore. Still, it wasn't every day that the Last Dragonborn was eaten, quite literally, by a book.

Malvina mentally gave Solstheim some extra credits for its originality.

The voices chanted that one verse what must have been a dozen time. Then, finally, the Dragonborn's vision came back to her. The darkness started to give way to colour. Dull, ugly shades of green and yellow, but colour nevertheless.

Her hearing returned to Malvina next, and she could soon make out the sound of someone talking. A voice that was not just a projection in her own head. Deep, and with a sort of Nordic drawl. "The time comes soon when…" Oh, it was human, male, and smug, no doubt about it.

The woman attributed the voice to the vaguely humanoid shadow standing to her right. But trying to make out anything was proving to be quite a hassle; her vision still blurry and unfocused. The shape she was looking at could have very well be anything. A man, or a tree, or a dragon.

When the world came into focus around the Last Dragonborn, it did so explosively. There were dragons, lightning spells and floating 'I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-but-you-look-like-something-related-to-a-netch' entities. She couldn't say that she was surprised to find herself pushed to her knees as soon as her presence was noticed. She placed her palms flat against the ground to balance herself as yet another unknown force held her down. Overall, she would admit herself impressed, if only a little.

It had been a long time since anyone had managed to stagger her with such rapid efficiency.

"Who are you who dares to step foot here?" The blurry shape finally revealed itself to be indeed a man. And a dragon-priest at that, judging from his attire. Those silly metal masks were such a give-away, not to mention ugly. His voice echoed over the noise of hissing and…

That same sound as before, that vibration, but stronger and sharper. It filled the enormous space like some sort of malignant wind.

Behind the masked man, those creatures from before watched her with beady eyes. Their strange bodied hovered in the air, pieces of paper flying around them. But what caught her eye were the massive bookshelves surrounding them. The Dragonborn could make out countless books scattered around wherever she looked.

A couple of hundreds — hundreds! — of good books could easily fit on so many shelves. Feeling herself get excited, the woman turned her head right and left, studying her surroundings.

The dragon-priest kept talking, but Malvina had already deemed him the least interesting thing in the room. "Ahh, you are Dragonborn." He said, some growing interest in his tone. From the corner of her eye, she thought that she could make out some of the tomes' titles. _'The Real Barenziah volume III'_ stood squeezed between _'The Aetherium Wars'_ and _'Immortal Blood'_. On a shelve lower there was something referred to as _'Ahzirr Traajijazeri'_. Malvina was sure that she had not read that one.

"I can feel it, and yet…" The man kept speaking, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice far too much. Malvina wondered how long it would take him to realize she wasn't paying him any mind.

What was this place exactly, and why were there so many books? Malvina stretched her neck to have a better look, and the man's voice died down. 'Did he take the hint already?' She wondered absentmindedly, but she didn't bother lifting her head to check. Taking her eyes away from the book covers would have been too much effort.

"So… you have slain Alduin. Well done. I could have slain him myself back when I walked the earth…"

No, it seemed he hadn't caught on yet. He ploughed on, oblivious to her disinterest, to his voice being ignored entirely. He reminded her somewhat of Frea, in that aspect.

Once she was satisfied with examining all the books in her immediate view, Malvina tilted her head up. While completely unobservant, perhaps this stranger in dark robes could be of use.

"You have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can — "

"Excuse me!" She finally interrupted the man's rant, unapologetic despise the wording of her dismissal. The man stopped, most likely surprised or offended— perhaps a combination of those. "What is with all those books? Are you a scholar?"

She could not grace him with her attention for long. Her eyes kept flickering around as she spoke, finding new things that intrigued her. And, after all, she was indeed the slayer of the Word-Eater. The Last Dragonborn did not concern herself with being respectful towards others. No matter how fancy their magical mask was. Now… _'Horror of Castle Xyr'_ sounded like something she might enjoy reading. She briefly wondered if she had the book back home, and if not, how she should steal it.

"Foolish woman, I am Miraak, the first born Dragonborn. Favourite of the Daedric Prince of Fate and Knowledge, Hermaeus Mora. One of the dragon priests of old-"

Malvina huffed.

Oh, how she hated evasive answers! She hadn't asked him _who_ he was, did she? "Yes, I'm sure you are. Now, are you a scholar or not?"

"What audacity! I am no simple scholar! I possess the forbidden knowledge of the Black Books. I retain understanding of things that are unfathomed to most mortals. Secrets that weaklings such as you would not be able to comprehend in their entire lifetime!" The strange man growled, the earth shaking in response to his fury.

Still immobilised and unable to stand, the Dragonborn's expression remained blank, almost bored. There was something reptilian about her gaze despite her rounded pupils. "You like to read, then!" She exclaimed, switching from impassive to warm with an unnatural bright smile. Even as an invisible force seemed to press harder and harder on her chest, she acted unaffected. As if she could not feel it slowly suffocating her.

"Have you read all the books here?" She asked, and the man was quiet. It was only a guess, but Malvina was tempted to bet that the dragon priest was glaring at her. The only reason why she wasn't treated to an evil stare was the fact that his mask got in the way.

"Hermaeus Mora is the patron of information and memory, the keeper of knowledge in its entirety. The Apocrypha is an endless library; I have spent countless years here, harvesting the power it offers. Power I have been given access to at a great price." There was something peculiar and foreboding in the way Miraak stated the last part. The dull, hard edge of his tone did not hide the fact that he was alluding to something else. Something darker. And, Malvina was tempted to complain, completely _irrelevant_! It didn't answer Malvina's question at all.

"What does that even mean?" The woman tried to bring the conversation back on track. "Are you saying that you've read all these books or not?" Surely, the Breton thought to herself, such a thing was not possible. There were too many books to count in this strange space filled with green smoke and black pools of tar.

For the first time since Malvina met the dragon priest, he decided to answer her clearly. "Of course." He told her curtly. "This space contains all the volumes written in the continent since the age of Dragons, and I have read them all." To the woman's great amusement, she could hear a hint of annoyance in his incredibly self-assured voice. "Your impertinence is astonishing, even if you are Dovahkiin." Ha, that was definitely irritation there.

"Are you sure? Every single one of them?" The disbelief in her voice was inevitable. Justifiable, even, in the face of such a boast.

"As if I would go through the trouble of lying to the likes of you. An insect that I could have killed in the blink of an eye." He sneered, having found her lack of trust in his aptitudes insulting. "It would be enough to will it to happen. You would barely have enough time to scream." His words were cruel and meant to frighten her. Malvina just wanted to roll her eyes at them.

She wondered why he felt the need to bring up the fact that her life was still at his mercy. She was perfectly aware of that, and it had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Changing the subject so was just plain bad taste.

"Yes, yes, I know, thank you for reminding me. But still… Every historical fact, every farfetched story and uninspired verse?" She tried to point to the towering shelves brimming with books, many of them black and unlabelled. She couldn't do it, though; she found it difficult still to stretch out her arm. Even without the dramatic gesture, Malvina knew she'd gotten under Miraak's skin. It was evident in the way he hissed his reply.

"Tell me, woman, how many times must I repeat myself until you shall have satisfied your curiosity? Or it there no such happening-"

"Even the romance tales?" The Last Dragonborn cut him off once again. Her eyes were arrogant as she looked up to his towering frame. To Mirrak, she wore the expression of a person who assumed too much, too fast.

 _"As the Eagle finds its mates, so too did Fjori find hers in Holgeir…"_ The man recited in a deep and compelling voice; the words vaguely familiar. "I believe _'Of Fjori and Holgeir '_ is a popular story in Skyrim right now. I must say though, when it comes to books about love and tragedy, I much prefer the _'Last Scabbard of Akrash'_." He stated, flooring the Last Dragonborn. Not only because the man had clearly read such books, but also because he had _preferences_! Her shock must have shown on her face since Miraak's eyes glinted behind the metal of his mask. Even with that ugly thing covering his face, he looked far too pleased with himself.

While Malvina got over her wounded pride, Miraak seemed to feed on her momentary defeat.

This woman was someone whose ego he found especially satisfying to crush, the First Dragonborn found himself thinking. He had enjoyed wiping the overconfident expression off her face.

"The Sultry Argonian Bard!"

Miraak blinked. "What?" He couldn't have possibly heard that right.

A grin worthy of a Khajiit split across the woman's face. It was so wide and full of teeth that it was perfectly visible even with the cowl shadowing her features. "Have you read even that?"

Had Miraak been a lesser man, he might have sputtered. "I am not obliged to indulge you or your absurd questions!" He snarled instead and felt a headache coming on strongly. Why was he doing this to himself, he wondered? For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of ending the smart-arse's pathetic existence. Even that moment of consideration was quickly interrupted.

"Ah-ha! I knew it! Of course, you couldn't have possibly read everything!"

Her victorious little address, even if her body was completely at his mercy, was just too much. It gritted on Miraak's nerves and tested his already short patience.

 _'I was right!'_ was written all over her face.

The dragon-priest felt the strongest urge to wipe the smugness off her face again. Putting the woman back in her place would be easy, after all. He did read innumerable books, including some… less savoury ones. But even he would never admit to such a thing. He refused to say he'd read that blasted book. _'The Sultry Argonian Bard'_ , what a joke! Ridiculous!

"Ellya Erdain is untalented scum. I myself have written far more entertaining things in my life."

Malvina squeaked in alarm, having not expected, of all things, to hear that!

Frankly, neither had Miraak.

He had meant the comment to be only for himself —an unwariness born out of an eternity spent in solitude. You never expected being ear-dropped on where there was no one to ear-drop on you.

And he had absolutely not meant it in the way that it ended up coming across.

Miraak's experience in the Apocrypha had been long and certainly productive. The man had had nothing but time to cultivate knowledge and write records of his experiences. He had written many things over the long years; stories about great battles, archives of forbidden knowledge, and tales of old heroes. Things of substance and value far superior to an abomination like _'The Sultry Argonian Bard'_. Such an awful book could barely pass as decent erotica.

Still, seeing the Last Dragonborn's face flush as she made the wrong assumptions was…

Well, it was a rather agreeable sight.

The Last Dragonborn, on her knees and hands before him, was visibly gasping at the implications of his words. How quaint.

A thin smile stretching under his mask, Miraak watched her from under the safely of the venomous-yellow metal.

"Send her back where she came from, she can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel." The Seekers moved closer to Malvina, and he turned to leave.

"This is going to be unpleasant, I assume?" Malvina questioned aloud, shouting the words at his back. She sounded composed once again but, upon a quick look, her cheeks were still flushed.

"You assume correctly… for once."

Without another word, he walked away, and she was blasted with magic from above. There was a long way to Solstheim. All Malvina could think about was her book collection. And ways to get her hands on a book written by a certain ancient Dragonborn.

If such a thing existed, she needed to have it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So, I had more time than expected today, so here is an update, hope you'll enjoy it! :)_

At the summit of Apocrypha, the Last Dragonborn stared impassively up at the giant eye of the Daedric Prince of Fate, Knowledge and Memory.

"Correct me if I am wrong…" Hermaeus Mora drawled on in that infuriating speech of his. While before the Deadra had been angry, now he sounded calm again. That, she supposed, had something to do with the fact that the Daedra — He? Or was it they? It? Really, did Daedric Princes even have a gender? — already had the man who had wronged them impaled by one of their creepy tentacles.

"In exchange for your service, Dragonborn, you would like…only a book." There was a strange thing, to hear a tad of surprise ooze into that forever-bored voice.

"Yes, that is what I said." Malvina answered, telling herself to contain her excitement. At least until she would have the tome in her grasp. Oh, but she would have it, anything else was unacceptable. Not after she'd been chasing cultists and forbidden knowledge across Solstheim for months. Not after she'd beaten Mirrak into a bloody pulp and proven superior to the First in every way.

Oh, it had been a thrilling fight, it had been long since Malvina had fought against such a worthy opponent. The woman could feel the residual bloodlust from the encounter under her skin, in her blood, in the way her throat felt warm as if she wanted to Shout. The taste of blood in her mouth only served as a reminder. It only made her more excited. But not even the thrill of such a fight could compare with her excitement at the thought of finally getting her hands on her prize.

"You would give up the honour of becoming my protégé…for a book?" Malvina could have scoffed at the disapproval in his tone. As if being Mora's protégé had worked out so well for Miraak.

And it was not, after all, as if Malvina was lacking in power. The Last Dragonborn had served many masters and had learned much in her time in Skyrim. There were always more ways to become more powerful. But this? Getting the book that she'd been chasing relentlessly for months?

The Breton knew that this was the only way she would ever be able to obtain such a unique item. No other way to quell her inescapable curiosity. She needed that book— needed it, damn it! There was no way the woman was letting the opportunity to add it to her collection pass her.

She heard Miraak scoff at his master's question in her place. The sound was mostly lost amongst the gurgling and pained gasps that he was letting out. The Daedric Prince's sharp ends were still firmly settled into his stomach, after all. The absurdity of it almost made Malvina smile.

"You have promised me knowledge; you have promised me a reward of my own choosing. This is what I want." The air sizzled and the wind changed in what felt a lot like a sigh on a colossal scale. Then, finally, the hovering mass of eeriness that was Hermaeus Mora calmed down.

"Very well." The world themselves bid her with their magic. Malvina would have needed to be seriously dim-witted not to realize that she'd just made an unholy deal with a Daedra. The disturbing power of the entity in front of her took over a small portion of her soul. Malvina tried not to let her disgust show, just in case Mora was sensitive about it. She still shuddered at the coldness that caressed her from the inside of her own mind.

She really needed to stop doing this, she concluded.

"Now…" The intruding voice murmured, from all around her and from inside as well. "What book is so valuable that you would only obtain it through me?"

Oh, how she had anticipated this part. If not for the book itself, then for the reaction that her request would deliver. Feigning innocence, she smiled a big, toothy, smile. The type that she saved for special occasions. It was all very theatrical, Malvina knew. From the corner of her eye, she saw the First Dragonborn shot her a dark glare. He did not appreciate her stretching out his suffering so, she guessed. Miraak's stubbornness was amusing to watch, even more so in defeat. Had Malvina not been working so hard not to let her impeccable mask crack and give away her devilish intent, she might had indulged him with a reaction.

"Tell me, my Lord, have you power over the tides of time and Fate?" She asked the dark chaos surrounding her. "Would you be able to give me any book that has ever been written?"

Her eyes turned cunning, and the earth shook in approval. "Yes, I lay claim over every piece of knowledge ever written."

 _'Perfect—',_ she thought, _'—and now, here comes the grand reveal.'_

"And if it hasn't been written yet?"

The air shifted in something like alarm, and it took all her years of being a disciplined, patient thief for Malvina to keep in the laughter.

"How would you know of a book that had not yet been made?" The Daedra inquired, and she delighted in the disbelief implied by the question. All this time, the Breton refused to allow Miraak's gaze upon her— was realisation setting in for him, perhaps?— to distract her. If she wanted to actually get what she was promised, she needed to pull this off flawlessly.

"I have been promised it could be made." Her fingers itched even at the thought of it. Again, the wind intensified.

"If that is so, how would my influence come into play?" Oh, did she sense suspicion there? Of course, she did.

_'Don't grin. Don't grin. Don't grin. Don't be stupid.'_

Oh, who was she kidding, where was the fun in that?

"Well, I am going to be frank."

To hell with subtlety, she had already won, hadn't she? The bargain was struck, and Miraak had been defeated, and this will show him how mistaken he'd been to think that anyone could deny Malvina anything. Especially books.

"For quite some time, I've been looking all over for a unique book, you see. A book written by your lovely servant, currently dying here." She jabbed her thumb in Miraak's general direction. "Supposedly _far more entertaining_ than Ellya Erdain's work." She mocked Miraak's words from their first conversation. The words that had driven Malvina crazy with _wanting-to-know-what-that-meant_. "But every time I asked him for it, he'd refused to give it to me. I now suspect he had not written it… yet. I want that book, and I believe you could pursue him to write it for me."

The world stilled.

If she had taken the time to have taken off Miraak's mask, she would have witnessed a rare display of bewilderment and horror take over his face. As it was, she could only try to imagine it.

A few tentacles moved. "You want me to let him… live?" The Keeper of Knowledge did not sound happy, for their voice had lost its mellow quality. Malvina was unperturbed by it.

The Dragonborn would have her way, whatever all of Oblivion liked it or not. She had not saved Nirn from the return of the World-Eater only to be cheated by a Daedra, of all things!

Almost nothing was pleasant about being the Last Dragonbon. Slaying dragons was not pleasant, and nor was having dead people chant into her head at all hours of the day. Then, there was the fact that she was always being dragged between planes and across vast wastelands. And don't even get her started on all the errands. It was absurd the type of things people asked the saviour of Tamriel to do for them. As if the Last Dragonborn had nothing better to do than go looking for rings or lost relatives in some cave.

That being said, Malvina had few pleasures in life, true. She had few things she craved, few things that made her _want_ , but those she would not have denied. Not by Miraak. And certainly not by the Prince of Fate.

It was not often that a book caught her interest —or a person gained her curiosity — as much as Miraak and his imaginary work of literature had.

So, she had a fixation, an unhealthy one; Malvina was aware, yes, and entirely happy with it.

"I guess so, in a way." She admitted thoughtfully. "I want him alive for as long as it takes for you to fulfil your part of the deal. I can wait, although I preferred it that I didn't." Something sparkled in her dull eyes, something wicked, and even the Daedric Prince felt consternation at the sight of it.

"Or better yet, why won't you give the stubborn fool to me. Strip him of his powers, if you so wish. Give him back his mortality, I could not care less. All I want is for him to write for me until I have — " Her voice grew darker as she thought of the past months. " — the book I've been denied so many times."

The giant eye blinked, once, twice, three times, but remained silent.

"I would rather die, than serve for her entertainment!"

It was Malvina's turn to blink, having forgotten about the fact that Miraak was still with them. And surprisingly conscious, by the sound of it.

"It shall be done." The voice of Hermaeus Mora drawled lazily once again. The black, undulating spikes that had made themselves so comfortable in the space between the First Dragonborn's heart and stomach retracted suddenly. In what the small mortal could recognize as a show of sadism, powerful black magicka was poured forcefully into the broken body of the Dragon-Priest. It served in mending his injuries while inflicting the maximum amount of pain possible.

Shaking her head, Malvina could not help but feel slightly disappointed in Miraak. The man had just lit his own pyre. He should have realised the plain stupidity of voicing out his animosity towards her proposal.

Of course, his formal master would agree with whatever brought him agony.

A fully healed, completely drained, ancient Dovahkiin was thrown at her feet. She examined him with interest. He looked well enough, she reckoned, but it was hard to say for sure with all that armour and flowing robes. Men and their sense of fashion.

"I have chained his power to mine and taken away all that I have gifted him with." The all-too-familiar voice enunciated sluggishly, dark pleasure hidden underneath the dull tone. "He will serve you well." Had the Daedra taken human form, they might have smirked darkly.

To avoid any unfairness, Malvina did it for them.

"I'm sure he will…"

She ran her hand through her hair, her cowl long since lost. Last time she'd seen it, it had dropped into a pool of black liquid during her fight with Miraak. Divines, did it feel like a lifetime ago since that happened. The prick would have to buy her a new one once they get back to Nirn.

The image of the ancient man browsing for gear, for her, in his own strange get-up, was enough to make Malvina want to laugh.

She didn't get the chance; they were falling back to Solstheim before she could even open her mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

For Miraak, it was a hard coming down to earth, in every way. Face —ugh, mask?— down in the dirt, the former dragon-priest grunted in pain. Malvina might have found it amusing that Hermaeus Mora literally dropped them out of the sky to add to Miraak's pain. If only she had not suffered because of it too.

"Blasted Daedra… I'm going to be sore for days." The woman complained. Still face-down on the ground, Miraak muttered something unrecognisable. Just for the sake of it, Malvina pretended that he was agreeing with her. He was probably just cursing, though…

It took a few seconds for the Breton to get back on her feet. Once she did, she found that she was in a dubiously good mood for someone who had been covered in bruises. "So what do you say of your great return?", she teased her new companion as she patted the sand out of her clothes.

Miraak did not rise to the bait, or indeed react in any way. It was a bit disappointing, not that Malvina let it bother her.

"You ' _will not dignify that with a response'_ , or what?" Growing suspicious at his silence, she approached the man. She poked his left side with her foot. Her glass boots were sharp enough that she didn't actually have to try to hurt him to get the job done. To Malvina's great dismay, the additional pain did not give rise to any kind of response from the masked man. She was starting to wonder if he was seriously hurt. Or dead.

She jabbed him again, more passionately, to check. Yup, dead as that goat she's passed that other da— "Get away from me, wench!"

Or… maybe not.

"Oh, so you are awake, that's terrific!" Not waiting for a reply, she grabbed a firm hold of his robes and pulled with all her considerable might.

Miraak stumbled to his feet, but not before he spat out something positively vile at Malvina. And his new master was pleased to note that the man did, in fact, possess a wonderful imagination.

"I doubt a netch even has such a thing!" Malvina chuckled, remembering a book she'd once read about the creatures. "That makes for an interesting mental picture, though, I'll give you that." Her companion snorted rather vulgarly from beneath that preposterous mask. He would have to learn quickly that bad manners didn't have much effect on Malvina.

She was about to point that out and save both of them the hassle. Call it an unexpected whim of kindness. Before Malvina could do something so out of character, though, the flurry of a woman that was Frea made a sudden appearance.

"Dragonborn! Dragonborn, I have finally found you! The evil has been purged, you have fulfilled your— " At the sight of Miraak, the warrior stopped short in her track. Eyes fierce and posture stiff, she had her weapon drawn in a matter of seconds.

Frea was a woman of the Skaal, a skilled warrior, rash and violent like any Nord. The man in front of her was the villain who had threatened her tribe and its history. The same evil entity who's meddling ultimately led to the death of the woman's father. If there was ever someone who the shaman would not hesitate to kill, it was Miraak.

…and Malvina had just shown up with said man near Frea's house, holding up his beat body, no less.

The Last Dragonborn saw it appropriate to admit that she hadn't thought out that part very well. Unceremoniously, Malvina let go of the ancient Dovahkiin as if he'd used Yol. It had the immediate effect of sending the man toppling down in the process. There was a satisfying crash that disturbed the silence fallen over the two women. Not that the gesture did anything to lessen the tension in the air.

"The fiend must die!" Frea shouted, voice like a war cry, as she advanced towards the two Dragonborns. She was enraged and ready for a fight, unafraid in the face of the supposed mighty First Dragonborn. Indeed, the Breton thought with a look at the comically spread-out man on the ground, she wondered why. What wasn't to fear about a thousand-years-old legend struggling to get himself out of a patch of snow?

"Frea, please, let's talk about this." Malvina pleaded. Pleading was not something the Last Dragonborn did, not usually. But Frea had carried most of Malvina's luggage around for the past two months. Call her sentimental, but Malvina didn't want to have to kill the Nord.

With silent apprehension, the Last Dragonborn and the Skaal exchanged looks. "Talk? To what end?" The Nord asked sternly. Malvina made note of the inhuman strength with which the other woman gripped her sword. If this went on for much longer, she was sure that the handle would dent.

A drop of sweat trickling down her spine, the Last Dragonborn scrambled for something to say. "You cannot kill him; he must serve his punishment first!" She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. It wasn't her most clever argument, but Malvina was spent. She'd just fought off multiple dragons, and _Miraak_ , and negotiated a deal with a Daedric Prince. Following that, she'd been rudely dropped from the sky. Honestly, why did Frea have to confront her after such a tiring day?

Luckily though, the fib seemed to work. A hint of uncertainty softer the Skaal's expression. The Breton, who had been so sure that a fight was unavoidable, concealed a sigh of relief.

"A punishment then…Very well…. But I would get him far away from here if I were you: he brings about much hate and troubles." For the first time in all the time that Malvina had known her, Frea had actually advised delicacy. Malvina felt proud to witness it.

"Don't worry, I will."

The Last Dragonborn wasted no time or gentleness on dragging Miraak far, far away.

…

…

…

The Retching Netch was just as one would expect of a Solstheim inn. Which was to say, more or less what you might expect to find in any inn, in Skyrim or elsewhere. Sure, the actual shape of the outside building was a bit weird, but once inside, there was not much that stood out. Practical wooden furniture and a lack of decorative style was something universal to all inns, it seemed. The angry, distrustful glowers of the Dunmer were the only thing that let them know that they were in Raven Rock.

"Give me a room, two beds." Malvina told the barkeep curtly, not in the mood for chit-chat. It had taken two long days to reach Raven Rock; two long days of sleeping on the sand and little to no food. Malvina just wanted to eat something and curl up in bed with her books. "If both of them are sturdy and free of bugs I'll make it worth your while in the morning." To illustrate her point, the Breton toyed with a small ruby between her fingers. The precious stone was something that she always kept hidden in her belt, just for such occasions.

The man pulled something from his pocket with narrowed eyes. "Here's the key." He made a move to hand it over but stopped before he did, still looking at them with distrust. "Say, who's your buddy there? His clothing seems familiar."

Silently, Miraak tensed. Malvina, having noticed, happily waved away the comment.

"You know those fanatics that tried to kill me a while back? Oh, why am I even asking, of course, you do! Long story short, I convinced him to quit." Not waiting for permission, the woman reached out and plucked the key from the perplexed bartender's fingers. "Trust me, slaying dragons is a much safer pastime than angering me." The mer quite bluntly stared, and the woman showed a toothy smile that had him quickly advert his eyes. Now, this should make him think twice before questioning the Last Dragonborn again. She so hated useless questions and small-talk. She had no obligation to explain herself to anyone.

"R-R-Right. The door is to your left."

Oh, how nice, she'd made the handsome Dunmer stutter. She walked away with a grin and a sulking dragon priest trailing behind her.

…

…

…

"What is this?"

"A bed, what else?"

"A bed?"

"Yes, a bed, you know…people sleep in it. Don't tell me that you forgot such basic things. Is this something that is going to happen often?" If the Daedra had done something to his mind to turn him into a clueless whelp—

"Of course I remember!" Agitated, Miraak started to pace the small room. His tall frame was completely out of place with his surroundings. The fact that he was covered in those dreary black robes did not help him blend in. Nor did the fact that he was still wearing his dragon-priest mask.

The mask, Malvina admitted to herself as she watched him, was the most inconvenient. How was she to know if she'd struck a chord if she couldn't see his face? She absolutely needed to have him get rid of that thing. Malvina only hoped that the black, moving…corruption… hadn't drastically affected his appearance. She'd hate to have his disfigurement distract her when in the middle of doing something. But an ugly mug, Malvina knew, was probably going to be the least problematic thing to put up with when it came to Miraak. And a problem she could deal with later.

There was, of course, the more pressing matter of his attitude. The man was rude, ungrateful, and a snob.

"This…deformity is not a bed; it is a pile of rotten straws standing on what may have been wood a lifetime ago." Miraak argued, and she just had to raise a brow at the indignation in his voice. Yup, such a _snob_ , this guy.

"Well, excuse me, did I forgot to mention that this is an inn bed? What did you expect?" He'd been cut off from the reality of life for far too long if he couldn't seize the simple difference. "And why are you complaining? It's still better than another night in the wildness. I could have made you sleep on sand if I'd wanted." A small pause, but then Miraak continued to mutter under his breath.

Malvina rolled her eyes skywards and made a beeline for the chest in the corner of the small room. "As a matter of fact, I can still have it arranged, so quit your whining." She warned as she checked the contents of the piece of furniture. There were four pieces of gold hidden in its clefts. Some plain peasant clothes and a barmaid dress have been left behind by past occupants of the room. The garments were a bit too colourful for the Breton's tastes, but there was no harm in keeping the coins.

Set on ignoring Miraak and his grumbling, Malvina studied the rest of the room with a blasé gaze. Naturally, her eyes paused shortly as she spotted some books. It was not uncommon for inns to leave some books laying around for people to pass the time. She read the covers of a couple of tomes laying on the bedside table. Hmm, ' _The Reclamations_ ' and ' _The Red Year_ '. She still hadn't finished reading the latest. Perhaps her night wouldn't be wasted after all.

Next, she unpacked her bag. Malvina had managed to collect a few more books throughout the two days journey to Raven Rock. She laid them out on the bed to organise them with the rest of her belonging. The books she'd 'borrowed' from Apocrypha were carefully packed in her travelling bag. She would only study them fully once she got back in Solitude.

Once that was done, the woman made a circular motion with her hand in Miraak's direction. She stopped with her hand outstretched his way, palm facing up. The man halted, tensed, and waited for her word.

"Do be a dear and take off that mask of yours." She spoke as she began to open the latches of her armour with her free hands, so she could undress for sleep. She shot him a few distracted looks over her shoulder. "I need to know how you look like, should I ever find myself in need to hunt you down." The Dragonborn explained in a too-sweet voice, and Miraak's reaction was predictably hostile.

"I refuse!" He hissed, like a snake that had its tail stepped on. "This mask is no simple mask, this is Miraak, and it is my name and my Fate! "

Divines, did he like to vent!

"Yes, and I'm sure you'd love to tell me all about that… But by Dibella, would you just stop and take it off. It cannot possibly be comfortable to sleep in. I don't know how you've managed to sleep in it so far, to be honest." Only a second later, something else occurred to the thief. "And how will you eat without taking it off? I don't know how things worked in Hermaeus Mora's realm, but here things like eating are important. Mandatory, even. You might have managed to go without for a couple of days, but you will not be able to deny it for long." She let her hand fall back to her side and cross her arms over her half-undone chest-piece. She faced him fully, gaze demanding, expecting to witness the baring of the man's face.

"I'm waiting."

"You know, mortal-"

"You're mortal too, now."

"- I sometimes feel like you have been created for the sole purpose of torturing me."

"Quit stalling."

He grunted.

As it turned out, he was a Nord, or as close to it as it got considering he was positively archaic. His human appearance hadn't been tainted too horribly by the Apocryptha's dark magicka. It was good to know no monstrous deformity would distract her on her quests. It was even better to have some of her curiosity surrounding the man sated.

Now, all Malvina needed to do was get Miraak a quill and some paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! It's really amazing to see that some of the people that read this story before not only remember it, but do so fondly! I will not be making a lot of major changes for the new version of 'Books', but I'm aiming to add a lot more consistency to the characters and a bit more 'flow' to he general writing. (Also, better smut.)
> 
> Hope to see you here for the next update,
> 
> A.


	4. Chapter 4

The very first thing the next morning, Malvina visited the merchants, dragging Miraak with her. The man cursed and whined, but it was not enough to break the woman's iron grip. Or ruin her good mood.  
  
It was unusual for the Last Dragonborn to be up at such a time of the day. It was even more so for her to do so with a smile.  
  
Stranger things had happened, though. A lot of them had happened to Malvina, specifically.  
  
After all, was it so strange that the woman was feeling excited by the prospect of getting Miraak the supplies needed to write for her?  
  
Oh, just the thought of the glorious book she'd been promised made her giddy.  
  
On top of that, it wasn't every day that Malvina got to torment a disgraced and disgruntled dragon priest. There were few things Malvina enjoyed more than poking and prodding at a new acquisition, especially one so unique. And even after just a few days of observing Miraak, the man was proving to be more interesting than expected.  
  
The two Dragonborns' trip to Raven Rock's market was a good opportunity for Malvina to observe her new companion in all his dour glory. The woman was sure that she would get fed up with Miraak's moodiness in due time. But, for now, watching him sulk was quite entertaining. Doubly so now that she could actually see his face.  
  
Not for the first time, the Breton congratulated herself on her decision to relieve the man of his ugly mask. The range of emotions and expressions Miraak was showing — such various degrees of disgust and anger! — was delightful.  
  
He huffed and puffed and bore his teeth at anyone glancing his way. Who would have thought that a legendary dragon priest could act so childish and stubborn? Surely, the man must have realised that fighting the Last Dragonborn was futile. Even as he was forced to follow her around like a puppy, it did not seem to make any difference.  
  
Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but if so, no loss for Malvina. The woman got a good amount of sadistic pleasure from simply watching the rage and desolation he was failing to hide.  
  
He was as expressive as a ruffled dragon, and it came as a pleasant surprise. While Malvina had great hopes for the book Miraak was going to write for her, she had not counted on the man himself also being such a fun distraction.  
  
"Must I trail behind you like a servant, or can I go see for myself the wonders Solstheim's merchants have to offer?" The First Dragonborn interrupted her inner mussing in a clipped tone. Such sarcasm! Still, unexpectedly, Malvina considered Miraak's request. Considered him.  
  
The dragon-priest was still wearing his gaudy robes and carrying his dagger. His pupils were solid shapes of pure black, and his gaze was sharp. His bare face was set in a permanent scowl, and his hair, like his eyes, was also unnaturally black. Was the persisting colour a side-effect of spending so much time near magic-infused tar, perhaps? It would make it hard to keep an eye on the man amongst the greys and faded colours of a Dunmer city. But his sickly pale skin was difficult to miss. She supposed there was no harm in letting the man have a taste of the world he'd been so willing to betray his former master for. At the risk of losing everything.  
  
Not that Malvina was feeling sorry for Miraak or anything. Though she supposed that the First was quite pitiful.  
  
The Breton briefly wondered if she'd come down with an illness. She had been pretty generous with the man so far.  
  
It only took a quick healing spell for the Breton to sadly discovered that kindness _wasn't_ something that she could actually prevent at all times.  
  
Oh, bugger…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
Fethis Alorwas was one of those persons who just couldn't set aside their curiosity. As many would agree, it wasn't a cautious trait to possess in Skyrim, let alone Solstheim. It was almost expected he that would pick the worst possible person to question for the day.  
  
"Say, Dragonborn, what's with the new follower?" He asked not more than a minute after noticing Malvina.  
  
Malvina wasn't browsing his goods because she wanted to talk, gods damn it. Why couldn't he just ignore her, as she ignored him? Would it have killed him if he did?— because not doing it might do just that.  
  
The Last Dragonborn stared at the Dunmer, displeased. With nothing to cover her face, the expression should have been pretty easy to read.  
  
"He seems ready to kill something…." …or maybe not.  
  
Malvina took a big, slow breath. She told herself she really needed not to get thrown out of the city for murdering someone. Not when it was a few days before Gjolund Salt–Sage and his crew set sail for Skyrim. She could murder whoever she pleased once she got back home, where people wouldn't dare complain about it.  
  
"And what happened to that pale woman you were with last time?" Gods, was he nosy! She'd parted ways with Serana months ago. How was she supposed to know what the vampire was up to? Also, was it mandatory that he wasted her time with useless questions?  
  
"Was she ill? Did she die?"  
  
Her lips thinned. It was official; merchants simply lacked any instincts of self-preservation.  
  
"I fail to see how that's any of your business." The man recoiled at the harshness in the Breton's voice.  
  
"I was only asking, no need to be so sour about it." He sounded offended. The thief almost laughed. Why couldn't people get it that she'd killed men for less?  
  
"Just give me that necklace and get back to your mumbling, will you?"  
  
"Hmm, here you go, tetchy human." The last part was murmured under his breath, but Malvina still heard it. The Dunmer would never know how close he'd been to meeting his brutal end at that moment. Malvina was just one small step away from stabbing him with one of the daggers put on display on his market stall. A word more and she would have considered summoning a dragon.  
  
"Woman, come here, I require your assistance." Alright, so it was Miraak who unintentionally prevented Malvina from doing something very, very stupid, not her self-restraint. But that did not mean that she couldn't take credit for it.  
  
"What do you want?" She might have snapped at Miraak, but she was fully entitled to do so. Then again, the finer details concerning any deals with Daedras were always unclear. Those sneaky bastards were experts in it. A few millennia of treachery were enough to turn anyone into an export. It took even Malvina less than a year to become an adept in blocking. And Oblivion knew she had a hard time handling heavy objects.  
  
"Will you stop daydreaming about your boots and help me get this over with, already!?"  
  


By Dibella, someone was having a bad day. 

"And what's your problem?" Besides the fact that she'd snapped at him and then shamelessly ignored him, of course. "Did Glover try to rip you off?" She didn't pretend to sound sympathetic. Or surprised. The blacksmith had a way with words, and with money. Must be a family trait, his brother being who he was.

  
"Would you, just for once, stop making thoughtless assumptions?" The former dragon-priest growled. It was striking how freakishly white and sharp his teeth were. The Breton had to say, she kind of liked it; he looked fierce, even without his mask. It made it all that more satisfying when she decided to remind him of her power and influence over him. Which she made a point to do as often as she had the chance.  
  
"Well, what is it then? I thought I asked you to buy me something from the smith." Malvina clicked her tongue in disappointment.  
  
"You can follow simple instruction, can't you?" By the time the words left her mouth, it was already challenging to hide her impish smile. It was strange, she usually had much better control over her maniacal outbursts.  
  
Miraak's face contorted in something that looked like indignation, or maybe rage. His mouth was set deep into a frown. His unholy eyes narrowed and seemed to glow, and his nostrils flared dangerously. It was impressive how quickly his expression changed. He had such volatile features. It didn't take long before his face melted into a familiar expression of haughtiness.  
  
"Oh, will you just stop with this ego-centric display of misplaced superiority? You are in no position to patronize me. Not when you have so blindly condemned yourself to walk the same path that had ruined me." His voice could be so demanding, she had to force herself not to roll her eyes at the man. If he kept it up with the delightedly self-assured rants, Malvina was sure that she would never come to regret her bargain with Hermaeus Mora.  
  
Heh…  
  
Ok, so maybe that was not entirely sarcastic.  
  
Of all the Daedric Princes, Mora had to be the first one to find her weak spot. A thirst not for knowledge per se, but the thrill projected by the unknown. If there was something Malvina fundamentally relished, it was exploration and discovery. The prospect of a mysterious artefact was more tempting than any jewel. The uncertain promise of immense wealth was so much more exciting than a boring pile of gold.  
  
In the spark that lit Miraak's eyes, Malvina saw potential; and that… that was exhilarating.  
  
Too bad that the man only ever really saw red….  
  
As if to prove her point, Miraak was scowling when Malvina casually turned to face him. "Are you even listening, wench?" Alright, he was crossing the line. The man needed to do something about that big mouth of his. Just this once, Malvina decided to give Miraak a helping help.  
  
"KAAN DREM OV!"  
  
"What the- a-a-agh…."  
  
"Have you calmed down now?"  
  
"Did you just-" He stopped for a second, disbelieve colouring his face. "-did you just use Kyne's Peace on me, like I'm some kind of undomesticated animal?"  
  
Oh-oh, now he was mad again. He was like that an excessive amount of time, Malvina noticed. The woman wondered if she should have been surprised, because she wasn't. The man had failed at something he'd planned for hundreds of years, and Malvina supposed she wasn't making things easier for him. Oh, well, since when did she ever make things easy for anyone?  
  
"Yes, that I did." She admitted readily.  
  
Miraak sputtered something absolutely awful under his breath like it was his custom. The woman just had to laugh. Never mind that the whole market was watching them already. Using ancient Dragon Shouts in public settings tended to attract attention. Go figure.  
  
"I am not your pet, nor am I your toy!" Miraak snarled. The sound was skin-crawling and appropriately dragon-like. Still, the woman could not help but compare the Nord with something like a petulant child.  
  
Malvina tried to quiet down her laughter enough to answer him. "I can call you what I please." She teased him. "You're mine, after all. Or is your memory so poor that you forgot?" Her tone was cheekier that she usually allowed it to be, but it mattered little. Miraak was not in her company by choice —not that many ever were— and he would therefore be forced to put up with it.  
  
"Careful, Dovahkiin, you might choke on your own tongue." He spoke darkly, and Malvina did not doubt that nothing would please him more than seeing her do just that. Not that Malvina let it affect her. There have been ages since she'd laughed so freely, and by Dibella, she was going to enjoy it while it lasted.  
  
It didn't last that long, of course. She couldn't let Miraak of all people think she didn't have a comeback for his ill-meant comments. "You're praying I'll pass out and die, aren't you?" She inhaled deeply and straightened her back. Rising from her slightly hunched position, she shot him a wayward smile. "Sorry to disappoint; but I'm not easy to get rid of." She almost — _almost_ — gave in to the urge to wink.  
  
"That I've noticed." He admitted, sulkily. "Now stop acting like a fool and come help me choose the colour of your new hood."  
  
Now, that was not something she'd been prepared to hear. The way he said it betrayed so much defeat it was ridiculous. Ridiculously hilarious, she meant.  
  
"That was what you couldn't figure out by yourself? What colour my hood should be?" Malvina snored, in a state of perpetual amusement. "Fine then, I'll come. And after that, we can finally go looking for ink and paper."  
  
She could have very well said they should go sacrifice a mammoth to Namira, for the reaction it evoked in the ancient man. Suddenly paler than usual, eyes widened and lips pursed, he looked like a prisoner finding out his execution date.  
  
Well, well, well… The fun was just about to begin.  
  
She refused to acknowledge the predatory smirk on her lips, and so did Miraak.


	5. Chapter 5

They never got around to visiting Glover's smithy in the end. The involvement of the Redoran guard, unfortunately, cut the two Dragonborn's excursion short. Shouting in public was apparently even more frowned upon in Solstheim than in Skyrim. Likely since most people haven't even heard about the Thu'um before. And, well, the title of Dragoborn still made them think of being mindless slaves to Miraak. Who would have thought?

Malvina took the guards' not-so-gentle advice to leave the market in stride, still running high on the thrill of humiliating Miraak in a public setting.

The First Dragonborn, of course, sulked all the way back to the inn.

Back inside their room, Miraak remained silent. Lost to his own no doubt depressing thoughts, most likely. The Breton was too preoccupied with her purchases to care.

After doing a quick inventory of all the items, Malvina handed over the writing supplies to Miraak, who accepted them with a blank face.

Malvina admitted herself just a tad disappointed. She'd expected the man to put up a fight, and part of her had been looking forward to another verbal spat. In part thanks to her draconic nature, Malvina thrived on violence. She wasn't ashamed of it, why should she be?

In any case, Miraak was clearly better at shutting himself off than Malvina had given him credit for. And just when the Last Dragonborn was learning to enjoy his explosive fits. Pity.

Well, it was of no consequence. While Miraak got comfortable at the small table in the corner, Malvina retreated to her side of the room.

The Breton picked up one of her books to keep herself busy. It was difficult to make herself comfortable on her shabby inn bed, though. And it was impossible not to be distracted by Mirrak's movements in the corner of her eye.

Of course, when she'd given Miraak the paper and ink, the implication had been quite clear: it was time to get to writing. Malvina still found it hard to believe that the man was following her silent instructions so well.

Except, it became clear after less than an hour, that he was _not_.

Every time Malvina looked up from her book, Miraak wasn't writing. He was just sat in the chair, playing with the quill, or examining the paper in front of him for far too long.

After another hour of absent-minded reading, Malvina could feel herself growing restless. Everything was getting on her nerves. The plot of her book. Miraak's blatant disobedience. The room that suddenly felt awfully silent.

Malvina put down her novel, noisily slamming it down on her side table. The First Dragonborn lifted an eyebrow at the dramatic gesture but said nothing. Would it have killed him to say something— anything? Malvina so hated prolonged silence. It was one of the reasons she never spent more time than necessary with the Dark Brotherhood. Aside from Cicero's obvious craziness, the Sanctuary was always too quiet. Even human voices were preferable to sitting in silence. And Divines knew how strongly Malvina hated most people.

Miraak sure had no shame, though. Not only was he being quiet, but he was brazenly ignoring Malvina.

"Well?" She broke the ice herself, pushing up from her bed. "Are you making progress?"

"Do not bother yourself with my pursuits." Miraak's sneer was painfully rude. "If you are bored, I'm sure you can find some erotica to help you pass the time. Maybe some of Crassius Curio's work will suit your taste." Gods, he was so condescending. He thought he was so high and mighty, didn't he? No wonder, not even his dragons liked him.

Well, no matter. Malvina was not a stranger to dealing with men with a superiority complex. She'd had plenty of practice dealing with worst than an overgrown Nord prone to theatrics. She had broken men worse than him, too. That Thalmor Justiciar living in Markarth's Understone Keep came to mind.

Instead of backing down, the woman stretched her arms over her head — stretched herself out like a predator waking from slumber.

"Ok, first of all…" Malvina started to say as she pushed her chin up and strutted closer to Miraak's side. "There is nothing wrong with reading _'The Lusty Argonian Maid'_. It's a classic." She claimed with a severe look and chose to ignore Miraak's scoff.

"Second of all, should you really be turning your nose up at my choices in reading material? Considering that my predilection for erotica was what saved your miserable life?" The Breton clicked her tongue in disapproval. "And lastly, you know very well what you've been doing, so don't you dare try to change the subject." Her nonchalance startled the man, or maybe it was the fact that she was suddenly so much closer. Miraak didn't stand up, but Malvina saw the moment his eyes grew sharp. And noticed his posture grow stiff.

 _'Good.'_ Perhaps he would finally remember that Malvina was not one to be so easily dismissed.

"And what exactly have I been doing?" Miraak asked, a more guarded tone to his voice, though he sounded as disdainful as ever.

"You're stalling. Wasting time. Pretending to collaborate when really you have no intention to write for me." The Last Dragonborn explained in a too-sweet tone. "Feeling rebellious, are you?" She smiled, dark amusement curling the corners of her mouth. "The only reason you are still breathing is that I happen to have such a sick imagination. You really would do well to remember that."

Miraak continued to stare at Malvina with hatred and anger. But didn't deny her accusation. Despite his resistance and pride, Miraak was not stupid. He too realised that Malvina was the one making the rules.

It must have been hard on the old man, knowing himself at the hand of a small Breton woman. Someone countless years younger than himself. Hermaeus Mora was a really sick bastard for allowing this whole situation to happen.

Regardless, that wasn't going to stop Malvina from getting what was rightfully hers. Or enjoying herself in the process.

Malvina, for the first time in many months, had something she was looking forwards to. She had something she truly desired. The promise of reading and owning a book written by the First Dovahkiin was irresistible. But the idea of reading such a book of the erotic kind? The woman felt tingles simply thinking about it.

It was a bit of a problem, really. Since Miraak had planted the idea of his book in her mind, most things she'd tried reading had lost its appeal. And there was no greater tragedy on Nirn than to have nothing worth reading.

"I am not stalling. I was merely… thinking: constructing and rearranging phrases in my head." The First Dragonborn lied through his teeth.

"You're convincing no one." Malvina barked a laughed, moving even closer to Miraak's side. Looking over the man's shoulder, Malvina was unsurprised to see that the paper in front of him was blank.

"Come on, I'm waiting." Malvina moved to lean her hip against the miserable-looking table. It offered the perfect vantage point to watch all the man's movements.

The former Dragon Priest' lips thinned. His eerie black eyes focused grudgingly onto the fine parchment laid out before him. An ink-dripped quill was held tightly in his right hand. She'd bought him the best-quality materials she'd been able to find, and plenty of them. The Breton studied the man in anticipation, hazel eyes fixed on his hand.

His hand that was still not moving.

Malvina sighed, finding the situation simply unacceptable.

"What's the matter? Where's your literary genius? I was promised a book!" And if she had sold a part of her immortal soul for nought she was going to make people pay. The bulk of her anger would mostly befall the unfortunate folks nearby. Well, it wasn't like she could easily punish the actual parties responsible for her ire, was it? But still, she could do enough damage to make Alduin himself proud — what could she say, she lived to impress.

Brows furrowed and chin pushed forward, Miraak glared at Malvina. The intensity of his gaze was quite impressive, Malvina would give him that. If only he'd not ruined her good mood with his very next words.

"Maybe I've decided that I don't want to write your filthy book." He sounded so deadpan. The woman wanted to Shout him over a mountain slope and feed his remains to a conjured wolf. And maybe put his soul in a black soul gem sometime in between, in case she decided she wanted to punish him more at a later time. One never knew when a chance to visit the Soul Cairn could present itself. Too bad they weren't any mountains around, and Malvina still wanted her book…

"Tell me Miraak…" For the first time since she'd met the First Dragonborn, she addressed the man by his name, though not as a sign of growing intimacy. Her tone was clipped and her eyes cold. "Has your stay in Mora's realm turned you a bit daft? Because you say pretty daft things once in a while." He did, or else he wouldn't have screamed the words that spelled his doom back in Apocrypha. He wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place.

The dragon-priest made an offended face. "You insolen— "

Malvina grinned aggressively. Her glare sharpened, the corners of her eyes pulled back.

"See, you're doing it now." She interrupted him before he could finish saying something he'd regret. Oh, and he would regret it no doubt; Malvina would make sure of it. "It's as if you're asking for something bad to happen."

Miraak smiled passively, but his response was palpably caustic.

"Your threats do not scare me." He declared. "I welcome death, over this humiliation." He tried to keep his face clear of emotions, but he still looked far too pleased with himself. It annoyed the woman to no end. Her hand twitched over her hip. A reminder to herself that there was no need to draw her weapon yet, but that the blade was there and ready to serve.

Malvina's eyes flashed yellow, her inner wolf enjoying the idea of sinking its teeth into the man. "Oh, but there are many things that can be done before killing someone. I could let my wolf side out to show you." It was hard to keep her voice from overflowing with exasperation. She disguised the unhelpful outburst of emotion behind a thick coating of sarcasm. Malvina absolutely refused to let the First Dragonborn know he had frustrated her so much. The cocky bastard would probably dare feel validated for managing to get under her skin. Divines prevent that the man ever thought he had any power over her.

As if to confirm her suspicion, Miraak let out a wheezing breath, amused by her words. "I thought I'd smelled dog on you. Now I know why." He had the nerve to smirk, eyes glinting, dark and shiny like ebony. And against all that she stood for, Malvina found her face heat up at such a show of impertinence. Oh, but this bound dragon could still bite; Malvina was unsure how she felt about that.

"The only dog here is you, Miraak, and I expect you to be a good pet and to do as you're told." Malvina scowled, slamming a hand on the table. The stupid man was so tall that she barely had to lean down for them to be on the same eye level.

"I do not answer to you." The man snarled. "And I am no one's pet!" Miraak moved to stand, and Malvina was forced to take a step back to avoid being head-butted. Her whole body tensed at the nerve of this man. He was impossible.

Feeling her pulse rise, the Breton forced herself to calm down. Her instincts were screaming for violence, but nothing good would come out of her tearing off Miraak's limbs. _'Though, would breaking one of his legs really do that much damage?'_ She wondered. No, no, she needed to think practically. She should make use of her wits, not her brawl.

Malvina looked at Miraak down her nose, consideringly. "The longer you stall, the longer you allow yourself to be at my mercy, you know that, right? Or— " She paused, smiled. "Perhaps you're enjoying my company too much?" Malvina mocked him, lifting a hand as if she meant to cup his cheek.

That prompted a reaction, and Miraak let go of his quill to stop the woman's hand mid-air. His grip was crushing, and Malvina had no doubt that were she any normal human, he would have broken a few fingers. Too bad she was made out of stronger stuff than most. "Do not test my patience, Dragonborn." He warned, voice low and dangerous, and close enough that she could feel it in her bones.

Malvina just smiled brighter and pushed herself bodily closet. "I would say the same, pet." She purred in intimate space between them. They were close enough now that their breath mingled. Close enough that Malvina could see the details of his eyes even past the black corruption. "I would hate to have to strike you down when you have been stripped of so much of your power. Defeating you in combat was easy enough when you were at your best, after all."

That jab hit Miraak with ruthless efficiency. Malvina found herself suddenly released, distance being put between them. Miraak's unmasked face betrayed his anger, surprise and humiliation, despite his attempts to keep a straight face. It was a pitiful display, but Malvina was not moved by it. The First's ego needed to be brought down a notch. Oh, absolutely.

Other than that, well, he'd asked for it.

"What's the matter? Do you have nothing clever to say?" To her satisfaction, he only pursed his lips, remaining quiet. "I thought so."

His silence, of course, did not last long.

"You may enjoy your victory now, but you are nothing more than a spiteful wench." Miraak bit back a few moments later, and, ah, but he was so going to pay for that later after that marvellous book was finished. He was a bit amusing to watch when he spilt his venom, though. Malvina could not find the energy to get mad at him yet again. She would save that for a special occasion.

Feeling that she was gaining ground, Malvina grinned toothily. She crossed her arms over her chest in a dramatic gesture. When her gaze stopped on him, it was filled to the brink with a strange, terrifying fire.

"Don't tell me this is about your _ability_!" She whispered the word as if she was talking about something dirty. "You cannot write a simple book? You, the former protégé of the Keeper of Knowledge?" She let out an exaggerated sigh, never taking her eyes off the strain in his jaw. "After all that bragging of yours…" She shook her head, feigning disappointment.

The tension in Miraak's jaw snapped, and like expected, he played right into her trap.

"You and your thoughtless assumptions! Of course I can, woman! I am Miraak, and do not speak nonsense."

Malvina laughed and stared the First Dragonborn down.

"Prove it."

The only response she got was an inhuman growl and the rustle of paper being thrown aside as Miraak searched for the quill. It was good to be the Last Dragonborn, even with all the tedious drawback.

Sometimes, things worked out just right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. This chapter took a lot longer to edit (and it ended up being almost 1k words longer than the original), but I hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> Thanks for everyone that commented and left Kudos as well! You guys are great. :D


	6. Chapter 6

  
For the rest of the day, Miraak did nothing but work on the book. The morning after, Malvina found him still bend over the small corner table. His bed looked unslept in, so the woman assumed that the First had slept in the chair. Or not at all.  
  
To be fair, the chair was not much of a downgrade, considering how hard the beds were. Malvina could feel her back protesting. And she'd claimed the better-looking mattress out of the pair.  
  
Malvina decided not to question Miraak's behaviour and went in search of food. When she returned sometimes later — holding two plates of with something vaguely edible from the kitchens — , Miraak did take a break to eat. He didn't speak to Malvina at all, though, not even to complain about the awful food.  
  
And Malvina was — _surprised? perplexed?_ Well, she supposed she should be neither of those things.  
  
Once Miraak set himself a goal, there was no doubt that he became absorbed by it. The man had been pretty committed to his quest to conquer and enslave Nirn, after all. Malvina simply hadn't expected that he would be so zealous about giving her the book she wanted. Why should he be?  
  
Unless, of course, he was bored, in which case Malvina could understand. She herself had done many ill-advised, illegal, or questionable things due to boredom. There was a reason she'd been banned from Markarth for life.  
  
Whatever the reason behind Miraak's behaviour, the First Dragonborn working so hard on the book was a good thing. Except for the fact that Malvina was not happy with being ignored. Where was the fun in sitting in a room and watching someone work all the time? There was only so long Malvina could entertain herself with her books and her own thoughts. And as it was already established, bad things happened whenever Malvina got bored.  
  
Tapping her fingers against her thigh for something to do, the woman watched Miraak from across the room. "Hey…psss." Malvina tried to catch the man's attention, throwing her legs over the edge of her bed.  
  
"Hey, you, big and broody one." She tried again, making sure to make as much noise as possible as she walked towards Miraak's table. She stopped a couple of steps behind him, annoyed when he still showed no reaction. With an eye-roll, the Breton leaned down to speak close to the Miraak's ear. "Mira-"  
  
" _What_!?" He snapped, causing Malvina to take a step back in surprise. She hadn't expected such a loud and aggressive reaction. Not after Miraak had been so aloof with her before. Gods, it was always one extreme or the other with this man, wasn't it? Drama queen.  
  
"There's no need to shout." The woman grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. "Unlike you, I'm not hard of hearing." She muttered not-too-quietly, wanting Miraak to hear her.  
  
The man didn't even spare her a glance in acknowledgement.  
  
Malvina chose to let Miraak's rudeness go. Being rude was simply the man's default state; no point swimming against the tide. Uncrossing her arms, the Breton walked around the man and landed in the chair opposite him. Her movements graceful like a predator's, Malvina settled in to watch Miraak. She propped her elbows on the table and placed her chin on top of her intertwined fingers.  
  
For a few minutes, she simply observed the man. Then: "I'm bored." Malvina broke the silence. "Entertain me." She demanded when it became clear that the man wasn't going to do anything about it without being asked.  
  
Miraak scowled and glared at the woman. He stared her down with the kind of confidence Malvina had seen lacking in many of Skyrim's Jarls. His cold, dark eyes dared her to disrupt him further with her unreasonable requests.  
  
"Miraa-!"  
  
"Just what do you think I'm doing here, woman?" Miraak interrupted Malvina's almost-whine in a no-nonsense tone. He motioned plainly at the impressive number of notes around him. Black ink as dark as his eyes drying on fine parchment.  
  
"I have ink under my fingernails and pains in my back, all for the sake of ' _entertaining_ ' you." He sneered. "My wrist is strained and my patience is at an end, and it's all your fault. All because you are impossible. Nosy, loud, and unable to stay out of my way! " He accused, pushing himself up from his chair and slapping his hands palms down on the table. The sound echoed loudly into the room. Malvina watched the dramatic display with mild interest.  
  
"I could have been happily dead have you not gone and started making bargains with a Daedra Prince! Oh, but, no! You had to make a mockery of my defeat! Does it give you pleasure, going to such extends to deny me even a modicum of dignity?" By the end of his rant, he was breathing heavily and he was hovering over Malvina's seated form. Malvina wondered if Miraak had always been prone to such dramatic speeches. Or was it simply an adverse reaction to her person? Either way, The Last Dragonborn found that it was her turn to vent. Miraak's hypocrisy was unbelievable!  
  
"How dare you make yourself look like a victim! You, of all people! You have been the one stalking me. Sending assassins to kill me. Trying to enslave me. You even stole my dragon souls from me!" She raised her voice, surprising Miraak and herself both. Ok, so she wasn't as over that as she pretended to be. So, _sue_ her! It was one thing to send people to kill her, it was another thing to steal her hard-won souls! Malvina could feel herself getting angry even just thinking about it.  
  
Clearly, then, the hostility in the room wasn't just Malvina affecting Miraak. It seemed to be rather an explosive reaction they had to each other. Malvina deliberated that it had something to do with their draconian nature. Dragons were not peaceful by design.  
  
"I am writing your book, what more do you want from me?" The Last argued, dragging a hand over his face. It drew attention to his bloodshot eyes, giving Malvina a glimpse of how tired the man was.  
  
Hm, as if Malvina was going to pity Miraak, of all people! Yeah, right, she told herself, she was _unmovable_. Cold as ice. Heartless.  
  
"Well, you refuse to let me see anything!" Malvina complained, letting her hands drop to the table and straightening up in her chair.  
  
Miraak made a frustrated sound, and then he picked something up from the table. Next thing Malvina knew, something small was sent flying at her head. _'Had she actually taken care of all the sharp objects in the room?'_ Was Malvina's immediate thought. She'd thought she did, but the Breton was now no longer so sure.  
  
Ironically, she was so distracted by the thought that she was too slow to stop the projectile from hitting her left cheek. The Breton blinked at the small white object as it bounced off of her face. Having made little damage, it landed harmlessly at Malvina's feet.  
  
Sceptically, the Last Dragonborn stared at the curious projectile. A crumpled ball of paper? What was the idea?  
  
Malvina instinctively rubbed her cheek, even if there was no pain from the impact.  
  
"Now stop bothering me!" She heard Miraak murmur under his breath, but it was enough to catch her attention. Malvina picked up the paper with caution. She smoothed it out and eyed its content. Small, black letters invaded her vision. Perfectly harmless, at a glance.  
  
Oh, so that wasn't an attempt to kill her after all!  
  
"You wanted to see what I'm writing, yes?" Miraak blankly stared at the Breton who served as his tormentor. "You can settle for that. It is merely a draft, a small fragment, but it should serve to distract you well enough. It will entertain you far better than shouting at each other." He claimed as he settled back into his chair.  
  
Malvina chuckled, her mouth readily setting into an excited grin. Eager to sate her now emerging curiosity, she turned her attention back to the paper in her hands. Her pupil grew big in anticipation.  
  
_'Her milky-pale skin was wet with salty water an — '_  
  
Before she was able to read anything more, her companion spoke up again. "Dovahkiin." Miraak drawled. "I would not start reading straight away if I were you." His voice had that smooth, self-assured quality that had first fuelled Malvina's need to crush — to _destroy, hurt, defeat_ — him. She couldn't have been blamed for her desire to completely beat the man into submission. There was a detached, violent person hidden behind her so-very-small frame. And that person had the mentality of the territorial beasts that she shared blood with.  
  
Miraak being such a smug bastard wasn't helping her with impulse control either.  
  
First, he'd dared threaten her world. Now, he was teasing her with a glimpse of his book and telling her she should wait for later to read it. There was no clearer invitation to war!  
  
Malvina was suddenly reminded of how Miraak never even had the decency to apologize to her. Nor for being such a bastard or for his dragons destroying her armour. And he never thanked her either, for saving his petty life! For these insults, and many more unnamed ones, The Last Dragonborn refused to show leniency.  
  
"And why shouldn't I? I've waited long enough already." Malvina declared, annoyed. " …all those weeks I chased you, following the trail of destruction you left behind in your mad quest. Wandering in circles in search of a book that did not yet exist!" The thief shook her head and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.  
  
"Have you ever even considered telling me about that last part? To spare me the trouble of hunting in vain?"  
  
Miraak looked at her as if she was either slow or out of her right mind. "I am sorry if I have forgotten to take your convenience into account when I planned your demise." He mocked her, and Malvina bristled up at the sarcasm and dark amusement in his tone. He was such a prick, the woman mused to herself. And she was about to call him out on it, had Miraak not decided he was not done talking.  
  
"What I intended to say earlier before you so rudely interrupted…" He chastised her, like the total hypocrite that he was. "Was that you should read that in private." The way he phrased his explanation was intriguing, to say the least. Almost as if he was offering a piece of sincere advice. But his tone was filled with too much-hidden anticipation to evoke any trust.  
  
It would be stupid to take his comment seriously, Malvina decided. Miraak was too set against her to ever give her good advice. Not to mention that heeding his words would only serve to inflate that ego of his. No, there was only one sensible option she could take.  
  
"Like I'm going to listen to you, _Nord_." She scoffed, deciding to not listen to the snake of a man.  
  
Decisively, she pushed back into her chair and smoothed out the paper in her grasp again. She started reading.  
  
As she did so, it occurred to Malvina that she might have made a mistake.  
  
The notes Miraak had shared with Malvina were… _hot_ , to put it in one word. Her eyes stayed on the words, transfixed, even as her hands grew clammy. Exceeding her expectation, the ancient First Dragonborn was a skilled writer. His descriptions were imaginative and vivid. His use of adjectives, as well as anatomy, was creative. It was impressive, especially considering the theme and plot of the story. Not that she was very aware of any _plot_ being present. Malvina felt herself gradually get warmer and more restless the more she read.  
  
Miraak might have been uncharacteristically selfless when he'd offered her the option of going away to read his work. Or maybe he'd only said it because he knew that it would prompt Malvina to do exactly the opposite of what he suggested.  
  
At the sight of the hot blush that had taken over her cheeks, the First smirked wickedly.  
  
"What's the matter, Dragonborn? Are you sick? Your face is awfully red." There was undeniable laughter in Miraak's black, intelligent eyes. His smile revealed his enjoyment of making her squirm, much like she herself had done before. The expression of complete satisfaction on his face, with its sharp, corrupted features, was enough to make the hairs on Malvina's arm stand on end.  
  
Malvina suddenly found that she had many reasons to feel embarrassed. And even more so to get out of the smug bastard's proximity. Malvina considered, only for a second, Shouting Miraak across the room. That would wipe that smugness off his face. She could blame it on a mysterious cold. It was only a sneeze, no blame of hers her that her throat was infused with unbelievable ancient power. Malvina really was tempted, but she managed to restrain herself. If only because of the bounty that the city would put on her head for the damage.  
  
Malvina cursed, shoved herself out of her chair. Ignoring Miraak's amused eyes, she angrily stomped her way outside their inn room.  
  
The _nerve_! He'd done it on purpose! This wasn't how it was supposed to happen; Miraak wasn't supposed to get under her skin so easily. Or to manage it just by doing what he was told. The infuriating man had found a way to have an advantage over her simply by using his ability to write. It just wasn't fair that books were Malvina's biggest weaknesses, really.  
  
Pressed with her back against the wall outside their room, the Breton frowned. If Miraak was going to keep up being so much work, she would have to hunt down The Keeper of Knowledge. Maybe rip off some of those stupid tentacles of his.  
  
"Damn, I've been ripped off so badly." Resigned, Malina sighed. At least she'd get a book out of it, she hopped.  
  
Studying her surroundings, the Breton pulled out the slip of paper that had got her in her predicament. She scanned its contents from under her hood, which sat askew on her braided hair.  
  
"Might as well make the best of it." She whispered, eyes hungrily taking in the bold ink characters.  
  
Somewhere far away, Hermaeus Mora shook his giant eye in disbelief but watched on nevertheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, soo... Fun fact about editing something you wrote over 5 years ago when English isn't your first language: you spot a lot of mistakes!  (Oh, the horror! The embarrassment!) 
> 
> I guess it teaches us that we do learn a lot with more time and practice (and thanks the Gods I'm better at proofreading now).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this update.
> 
> Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. I'm trying to post every week around Monday, just thought I should mention it! 
> 
> Without further chit-chat, here's Chapter 7.

It was two days before their planned departure for Windhelm that they heard the news. A dragon was sighted attacking wildlife near Coldcinder Cave. The beast was said to be ominous, with dark, curved horns and unusual white eyes. Its roar a sound that lived on in nightmares worse than those born out of Vaermina's realm. The stories put fear in the minds of the people of Raven Rock, and caught Malvina's interest. It was a shame that she could not risk missing the ship going to Skyrim. She would have liked to test her Thu'um against the monster otherwise.

Alright, so those were all lies: well-told, explicit lies.

First of all, there was no wildlife near that old cave, except maybe an Ash Hopper or two. This was Solstheim after all; as a rule, there wasn't much of anything alive anywhere. And no self-respecting dragon would go about hunting Ash Hoppers, no matter how deranged. Second of all, as anyone who'd had the pleasure of sampling Vaermina's work could attest to, there was no way anything with just one row of teeth could ever compare to it. Other than that, there was the simple knowledge that dragons attacks had stopped catching Malvina's interest a long, long time ago.

Sitting at one of the tables in The Retching Netch, Malvina dispassionately shoved some Horker and Ash Yam Stew down her throat. The Last Dragonborn paid no notice to the urgent whispers shared between the Dunmer. Passingly, she wondered if drinking some Sujamma to chase her boredom away would be a good idea. It would mean wasting a night she could otherwise spend reading. Malvina was still considering it when out of nowhere — but more accurately from her left side— , Miraak pulled back a chair and sat at her table.

The woman simply lifted a brow at the unexpected new-arrival. "Well…" She drawled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she finished her meal. "Look who decided to come out of his cave. I was starting to think that you were glued to that chair."

Miraak responded with a glare. Then, speaking as if he found the words distasteful: "I got hungry." He muttered, and he motioned the server to their table.

Drovas Relvi was quick to get to his feet. And even quicker to reach her companion and ask the tall gloomy Nord what he wanted to order from the kitchen. There was still that sparkle of distrust in the dark elf's eyes. The one that had nothing to do with the fact that they were outsiders and everything to do with being a slave to Miraak. Miraak's voice had played with his mind and controlled his body for months. Even if the dunmer couldn't quite remember it, it must have left an impression. Malvina could bet that the man hadn't visited the Earth Stone since _that_ incident was over with.

"What can I get you, sir?" Drovas asked the dragon-priest, swallowing nervously.

The woman chuckled at the formalities.

"Is something amusing, Breton?" Miraak hissed.

Malvina waved away her companion's comment with a smile. "You can direct that question to me if you like." She addressed the dunmer. "I'm the one paying the bill, after all." She made a show of ignoring Miraak's sour look.

Drovas's eye glanced apprehensively between the menacing figures sat at the table in front of him.

The First Dragonborn was glowering, not happy with Malvina reminding him of how dependent he was to her goodwill. That alone would have been enough to send most people running. With his impossible height and unnatural features, Miraak was intimidating on most days. But the dark bags under his eyes, and the stubbles he'd gotten from days of obsessing over the book, only made him look scarier.

Malvina wasn't a sight that inspired trust, either. She was in her Guild Master's Armor Set, eyes hidden once again by a hood and gloved hands playing with one of her blades.

Malvina couldn't really blame the elf for feeling anxious. At a glance, they looked like just the type of characters who made innkeepers wary. The type whose rooms they checked twice before letting them out the door. She found the mental image — of two legendary Dragonborns being searched by the scrawny innkeeper — amusing.

When Miraak made no further movement to protest to her suggestion, the woman decided to order for him. Feeling creative, she started carving something into the wood of the table. She paid no mind to the alarm blooming onto their waiter's face as he watched her do so.

"Since you don't have anything good on the menu, he'll just have to settle for the house speciality." She said, pointing the tip of her dagger at Miraak, just in case anyone was confused about who she was talking about. The look on unease on Miraak's face, when faced with her blade, was a nice bonus she received for her thoughtfulness. Not that Malvina understood why pointing something sharp at his face was what was unsettling. Malvina could kill everyone in the room with her voice alone. "In other words, bring him what you brought me. And this time, maybe hold back on the actual ash you put in the dish. I know that it's your local flavour of choice, but it really is dreadful." Malvina instructed, waving the scared worker away quickly.

As soon as the dunmer was gone, she pushed the bottle of Sujamma she'd been playing with to her fellow Dovahkiin. Not because she was nice, generous or, gods forbid, compassionate. But because that way she wouldn't be tempted to make a fool out of herself that evening. Although he lifted one of his eyebrows in incredulity, Miraak proved surprisingly yielding. He accepted the drink and swallowed some of it quickly, not even cringing at the taste. Malvina noted to herself never to challenge the man to a drinking contest.

Miraak didn't thank Malvina, but neither did he give the bottle back. Malvina just rolled her eyes and returned back to her carvings.

Miraak's order arrived soon after, and the man busied himself with the food and the alcohol.

Sometime after he had finished eating, Miraak's sneer made Malvina lift her head from her little engraving project. "What are these simpletons getting so worked up about around here? They're even more pathetic than usual."

Malvina looked at Miraak and spoke with painful boredom in her voice. "Supposedly there's a dragon reaping chaos nearby, and it's heading for the city." The man's eyes narrowed in interest, and he stopped to pay closer attention to the chatter.

"Indeed?" He asked in that deep voice of his. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed, but Miraak really did have a good voice. It made the Breton wonder what it would be like to make him read something to her in the near future. Hmm, _'Chance's Folly'_ , or even _'The Aetherium Wars'_ would sound wonderfu—

"And what are your plans?" The same voice she was musing about cut her daydreaming short.

Distracted, the woman dropped her hands away from the table. She put away her dagger before she destroyed something with it — something that wasn't the table in question, of course; she'd already ruined that. "My plans?" Malvina repeated, trying to remember what they were talking about. Once she got his meaning, she frowned, perplexed. "What do you mean? I'm not planning to do anything about it." She sent him a look. As if she'd expected him to know that from the start.

Miraak's eyebrow lifted ever higher on his forehead. "This city's fate is of no interest to you?" He already knew the answer to that, yet he gracefully took the chance to tear into her. "I was told you called yourself a hero, Dovahkiin. It seems that you are nothing but a selfish, indifferent mortal, after all." For someone who had embraced his violent nature so well, the man was surprisingly Imperial-like in his verbal attacks. He delivered mean jabs in a pleasant tone. It reminded Malvina of the noblewomen she'd had to put up with in her adolescence. Of the noble court of High Rock. Ugh, not the best time of her life.

The thief didn't have anything against Miraak's assessment of her — the image was actually not that far from the truth— but that did not mean that she was going to let him talk down to her. He was, first of all, Miraak, the failed villain. He had lost to Malvina and he was hers to do as she pleased with. He might have been correct, but she wasn't about to treat him fairly just because of it.

Putting on an affronted front, the woman crossed her arms over her chest. She lifted her chin up and straightened her back. "I am doing them a favour." She stated in a haughty voice. "They need to realise that I'm not going to stay here and take care of their bloody problems forever. This way they can start creating a strategy to protect themselves in the future." She declared, voice only slightly muffled by the noise around them.

The First Dragonborn grunted, seemingly accepting the explanation without much fuss. Malvina had to congratulate herself — not for the first time — for her ability to make up things on the spot. Pleased with her small win, the Breton relaxed back into her chair. Knowing very well that Miraak would not be able to see it, she even allowed herself a small, victorious grin.

"Still — " He began again, and Malvina tilted her head towards him with an annoyed glance. "I'd say you're missing a great opportunity by refusing to fight such a worthy opponent. A dragon with black and purple scales, and kaleidoscopical white eyes is positively ancient." He rasped. " Or are you nor aware, perhaps, that the amount of power a soul possesses is measured by the rarity and age of the Dovah?" Malvina tried not to let his words reach her, but by the end of his speech, she could not hide her interest.

"I've always assumed, of course…" She admitted quietly, forgetting herself. Realising she was giving away information to the enemy, the Breton paused. Regained her baring. "Well of course I knew. It's not like I need the power right now, though. And don't want to risk missing our ship back to Skyrim just because of one petty soul." Louder and surer, she let her voice carry over the whispers of the troubled Dunmer. Some stopped, some stared. Some pointedly looked at the strange couple seated but a few tables away.

"Such a foolish thought; you can never have enough power." Miraak preached, unmoved by her arguments. He seemed insulted at the notion of such an idea coming from her.

Did he…Did Malvina imagine it, or did he actually sound disappointed? That was certainly an interesting development. If there was one thing Malvina knew the First was sincere in, it was his pursuit of power. If Miraak honestly thought that Malvina was wasting a chance to obtain a powerful soul… Maybe Malvina needed to give the matter some more thought.

Chewing on her lower lip in frustration, the woman turned her face so that her hood would hide her eyes. Blast the Nord, for he was making Malvina want to go kill that dragon, and that was more than annoying. There were only two days before Gjalund Salt-Sage's ship would set sail. It really wasn't the time or the place to go around changing her mind all of a sudden!

"You might find that you have reasons to slay the Dovah anyway." Miraak interjected smoothly. "Considering that you haven't collected any dragon souls while in Solstheim."

The Breton frowned, but silently admitted that Miraak was right, again. Dibella, what was wrong with the man all of a sudden, making so much sense? She sighed and went back to her carving.

Resentfully, Malvina dug into the wood with more force than necessary. The woman had a thought to confront Miraak about how he'd been the one stealing all her souls from her. Yes, she hadn't acquired any new souls in a few months, and that was entirely Miraak fault. It didn't really seem practical to bring that up, though; it was already too late for that.

Malvina'd already seen his point.

Having made up her mind, she stabbed the dagger into the table one last time. Vaguely, she registered how wide the innkeeper's eyes got at the sight. Malvina promised herself that she'll pay for the damage later and got to her feet.

"Come on, Nord, we've got a dragon to slay."

The woman tried not to let the delight in her companion's dark eyes bother her too much.

…

…

…

Getting herself out of the fire's range, Malvina viciously swore.

Damn Miraak to Oblivion and beyond, he'd been planning this all along, hadn't he?

"Miraak, I'm — ah!" She yelled, clearly vexed, but her voice died down absurdly. She suddenly found herself distracted by the huge, scaly head and massive, sharp teeth headed her way. The woman viciously dug the heels of her boots in one of the dragon's nostrils, wanting to get the beast to let go of her pack. The pack that was caught quite comically in its teeth. The dragon pushed her away with a pained roar and threw her belonging to the side. Making a mess of all the potions she had stored there, no doubt.

Malvina uttered more profanities under her breath. If the bottles broke, her books would be ruined! "Miraak, I'm going to make you wish you died by Mora's hand, you bastard." She yelled over the sounds of the battle. Gods, how she wanted to make the First pay for his trickery.

In response to her words, the man laughed darkly from somewhere behind her. The bastard was sat quite comfortably within one of his magical wards, out of the dragon's sight. "You've already accomplished that, I'm afraid. Maybe try to be more ambitious than that." He took his time telling her, enjoying watching her struggle to fight the Dovah alone.

The Breton was thrown in the air before she had the chance to elaborate on the many forms of torture she had planned for him. And it was just about then that Malvina felt her patience snap. Along with her temper. As soon as she hit the ground, the Breton focused all her anger onto the irritating reptile that had interrupted her.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" Her Thu'um projected strongly, targeting the dragon with cruel precision. Malvina smiled at the muffed sound of hopelessness that escaped it when it was unable to fly away.

 _'Of course, Miraak would not help her.'_ Malvina ranted angrily to herself. She attacked the black beast with her blades. _'Of course, he would let her become a target for the dragon and leave her to face it by herself!'_ Malvina had forgotten how vulnerable she was when fighting without a _'shield'_. She'd grown used to fighting with a companion. Someone to distract her opponent while she made good work of her range weapons and Shouts.

Miraak had known. He'd realised before she did. How hard it would be for her, with her light armour and stealthy ways and short blades, to handle the full power of a Legendary Dragon alone. Especially since she was still drained from their fight in Apocrypha. Malvina was lucky that she could incapacitate the dragon with her Voice. And that, besides having her Ebony Bow and daggers, she knew a few destruction spells. She wouldn't have lasted very long otherwise.

"GAAN LAH HAAS! Die, damn you!"

It took a lot of Shouting and a lot of stabbing before the Dovah did die, despite Malvina's fervour. When it was over, the force with which the dragon's soul rushed towards Malvina was enough to knock her on her back. The woman was exhausted and bloody, and so, so over this day.

Shakily, she pushed herself onto her knees. Supporting herself on her hands, she focused on levelling her breathing.

Well, one thing was sure; she would spend much of their voyage at sea nursing her wounds. If she even made it to the ship in the end.

A pair of dark boots obscured her view of the hard, yellow earth.

"This position seems familiar, doesn't it?" A rumbling voice asked. "Too bad our agreement only says that I am to serve for your entertainment. Had I been in your service completely, I would have had no choice but to fight for you." Miraak explained, mirth in his tone.

Malvina was the furthest thing from amused, though. How hadn't she thought of that? She was supposed to be the one paying attention to loopholes.

"I hate you." Malvina whispered. "There are not enough words to express it."

The bastard made an unconcerned sound, and he proceeded to grab a hold of her and lift her to her feet.

"Get me back to the inn." Feebly, Malvina made an effort to sound commanding, but she sensed that she failed horribly.

The First Dragonborn started leading her away. And, Malvina was not sure because he'd insisted on wearing his mask for their outing, but she was willing to bet he was smirking.

Damn Miraak, damn him and his stupid mask; him and his tricks and his attitude!

He was never going to let her live this down.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I'm really bad at being consistent with the updates, but here we go, Chapter 8 is done. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Time passed awfully slowly when one was black and blue all over. Malvina had learned that many years ago. Still, on the day before their ship left for Skyrim the hours seemed exceptionally long. Agonizingly so, even.

The cause for all her pain — Miraak, the First Dragonborn, former Dragon Priest, and Champion of Hermaeus Mora — was sat across the room from Malvina. The bastard was looking through some of the notes he'd written, seemingly unconcern. As if he hadn't tried to kill her less than a day before.

Out of a lack of things to do — there wasn't much she could do when her whole body hurt so badly —, Malvina watched Miraak. The man was taking the whole writing business much too seriously. For someone who'd been bullied into making that book, that was. It wasn't the first time Malvina found herself thinking so. She supposed she should have been glad, grateful even. But her acquired distrust for the man was preventing her from feeling such a thing. It was something to be expected, of course, after that little incident with the dragon. The one that was the reason for the deplorable state that she found herself in.

"Have you nothing better to do but stare at me?" Miraak asked when he noticed her, his tone dripping with disdain. "It's pathetic." He deadpanned, not even having the decency to face her when he spoke. Malvina only narrowed her eyes at the man, infusing more loathing into her stare. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could cause him physical harm through the sheer power of her will.

After only ten disappointing seconds of nothing happening, Malvina decided to change tactics. Time for her second go-to approach: verbal lashing. And yes, for those curious, physical violence was always preferred approach number one.

"Well, I could be in the market hunting for supplies, had I not been mauled half-to-death by a fire-breathing lizard!" The woman readjusted her left arm over her covers with a huff. Miraak had rudely deposited Malvina on her bed when they returned to the inn. She'd been unable to get up since. "I had plans for today, and none of them involved being strapped in this bed for days!"

The woman was not happy with being incapacitated like this. And she made no efforts to hide that she was blaming Miraak for this entire situation.

The man chuckled lowly, more amused than anything by Malvina's accusations. Thanks to that infuriating mask, the sound was uncanny, more so than she remembered it being. Meanwhile, Malvina was just about as intimidating as a cripple. Life was, simply put, unfair.

"You would assume everyone is obliged to cater to your schedule." He said, his nonchalance grating and out of place, in the Breton's opinion. "Allow me to inform you, woman, that the whole world does not owe you anything. And it would not reward you for it, even if it did."

Malvina knew he was smirking, and she found that his mask irked her more than before. For reasons only the gods knew, she wanted to see that stupid smirk. Bushing the thought aside as merely morbid curiosity, Malvina focused on her anger. She offered the man a sharp glare.

"Everyone on Nirn, except for very few, owes me their _lives_ , at the very least." She hissed, partly out of anger and partly out of pain. Was that one of her wounds opening under her poorly self-applied bindings? Yes, indeed, Malvina could feel something wet and warm seep into her clothes.

When she was a child, Malvina used to sneak sweet rolls from the kitchen into the pockets of her clothes. More than once, she'd gone to sleep only to wake up with her sheets stained with honey. She'd stopped sleeping with food in her pockets long before she'd arrived in Skyrim, though. So, the possibility of that not being her blood was ridiculously slim.

In a fleeting moment of pain-induced delirium, Malvina considered the advantages and disadvantages of both scenarios. For one, blood was harder to wash than honey, but it was easier to stand sticking to the skin than that sticky, sugary—

"Are you experiencing pain?" Miraak's voice cut through Malvina's inner musing. "You look pale, and your fingernails are digging in your arms hard enough to leave marks." Malvina looked at him crossly. His question indicated concern, but his tone was perfectly flat. He was a man of many contradictions, the First Dragonborn, that was for sure.

"Why do you care?" She snapped with some difficulty, and she hoped her weakness didn't show. Heh, Miraak was probably enjoying messing with her. Nothing new there.

"I have my reasons." He answered, and his voice was so smooth and self-assured that she wanted to choke him. Had she not been preoccupied with a second wound opening, she might have found the answer itself peculiar, too. It was just too bad that she was so dizzy with pain.

"Say, do you know any Restoration magic?" If questioned what made her thing that it was a good idea to ask Miraak that, of all things, Malvina would say —

Well, something not at all related to the subject, probably, and hope it would serve as a good distraction.

Malvina didn't really know herself, and she definitely didn't want Miraak to know that.

"Excuse me?"

"I think… " Malvina stopped, inhaling sharply. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop any sound of distress passing her lips. A new wave of pain ripped through her body, and, well…

"I, ugh, could use some healing. My wounds opened again." It wasn't a scratch gotten in a bar fight, damn it, she needed a bit of help! Curse that dragon for destroying her potions!

It killed her to have to ask Miraak for help. But the injuries were killing her more painfully, not to mention faster, than shame.

The First Dragonborn silently put away his work and lifted himself from his seat. The sad excuse of a chair he had been sitting in made an unpleasant sound when he did so. Aside from that, the room remained silent.

"I hate silence…" The Breton mumbled in response, as Miraak moved until his tall frame towered over her bed. She took a moment to internally curse that mask of his to Oblivion and back. First of all, because it was something to do. Other than concentrating on her predicament — and that _damned pain_! And second of all, because with it on she had virtually no idea of what Miraak's intentions were. The bastard could have been frowning in distaste at the task forced upon him, but resigned to it. He could be seething with anger and planning to watch Malvina die. Or he could be smirking with glee, ready to take advantage of her weakness. Planning to assassinate her, helpless as she was on that old, dirty bed.

That being said, there were probably two in ten scenarios where Malvina didn't die a horrible death. Miraak would only need not heal her for Malvina to have a good chance of dying, too.

All in all, Malvina's day was just going _great_.

"I shall warn you only once — " The man was awfully close, his voice reverberating loudly in the space between them. It startled Malvina. Enough to get her to stop thinking about what the Dunmer folks in Raven Rock would do to her dead body. If he left her body intact, of course — would they put her incinerated self in an urn?

" — should you try to kick, punch or wiggle out of my grasp, I'm going back to my business and letting you bleed to death." Well, she supposed that made sense —

_'Wait, what?'_

The woman blinked slowly, trying to catch up with what exactly Miraak was saying. Was he actually implying that he was not going to let her die? It was strange, how easily he'd answered her call for help. It was almost sacrilegious, come to think of it. Wasn't he the one who had rooted for that Dragon a short while ago? He'd complied far too quickly. Never in the months since she'd met the man, had he ever shown compliance in anything.

Sweet Dibella, Miraak was most likely possessed. There was no other explanation Malvina could think of for it…

And if that was true, it was quite unlikely that giving him authority over her body — no matter how briefly — was a good idea.

It was too late to change her fate, it seemed. Miraak's hands were already surrounded by a warm orange glow. Malvina usually found the burn of healing spells reassuring. But this time she could only notice how the light made the shine of Miraak's mask give him a more fierce appearance.

Damn it all, she really did hate that thing….

Faced with such second thoughts, Malvina made some last efforts to protest. "Ugh, maybe…uh…maybe it wasn—" It was useless, really. Miraak was already hovering over her, crowding her in on her tiny bed. He was so infuriatingly tall, she could see little but his body.

The Nord's palm over her upper arm was burning hot. "Lay still." He grunted. Malvina froze where she was, mindlessly heeding his instructions. That in itself was weird, because Malvina never just heeded instructions, after all. And surely not from Miraak. The blood loss was probably messing with her head.

" _Close Wounds_." He cast the spell. And if we felt irritated with Malvina, he hid it well. The incantation was spoken softly in that rumbling voice of his.

Suddenly, there was pain everywhere, like an explosion had been set up inside her. Malvina's stoicism finally broke. She whimpered, the noise she made not very human-sounding. She blamed the Companions for that. It was their fault she was so often called a dog — although the exact term was a bit more female-specific.

Malvina didn't remember healing spells hurting so badly. There were just a few chunks of meat missing, and a broken bone or two. Nothing compared to what she had to deal with after she fought that smug lizard, Alduin. Miraak was definitely killing her, then, no doubt about it.

"You…treacherous…" It was so hard to breathe, and so exhausting to talk, but the words needed to be said. "….shameless, _bastard_ …" She was so clearly about to pass out that it wasn't even funny anymore…

"Excuse me?" Miraak asked coldly. That was just about the part where he lifted an insolent eyebrow at her, Malvina thought. Not that there was any way to tell for sure. For reasons that had nothing to do with the blackness clouding her eyes, and everything to do with Miraak's choice of headwear.

Gods, he was so hard to read. Stupid Miraak, stupid mask, stupid attitude.

She really needed to pawn that thing, since he insisted on keeping in on his face.

"You are such a strange woman…" Had he said anything more, Malvina didn't catch it. It wasn't quite the thing to say to someone before murdering them, right?

Well, in any case, Malvina was not in the state to judge. Everything was losing focus around her, and it was a lot like being trapped in Pelagius' mind all over again.

As her consciousness faded, so did the pain. But Malvina had never enjoyed being unconscious much.

…

…

…

Malvina slept through the night and remained unconscious throughout the early morning hours. She didn't rouse even when someone knocked on the door, sometime after dawn.

Miraak opened the door to find a small Dunmer urchin carrying a messenger's pouch.

Though visibly nervous, the boy managed to not run away scared at the sight of Miraak in his full gear. An impressive feat indeed. "Is this where…where the Dragonborn is?" The elf asked after summoning his courage.

All the Dragonborns left in existence, were, indeed, in that room. So Miraak didn't bother asking which one the boy was looking for.

"Sure." The First Dragonborn answered flatly. "What do you want?" Miraak watched as the small elf nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another. The child was barefooted, what a surprise.

"Sir…captain Salt-Sage sent me to tell'ya that the ship set sails in a couple of hours." The boy rushed to deliver his message. "You're expected at the dock before noon, or the captain will leave without you."

"Indeed?" Miraak crossed his arms over his chest. He straightened himself to his full height and loomed over the young Dunmer. "Very well…" He drawled, smirking under his mask. The boy's obvious fear was somehow entertaining. "It has been noted." Miraak deemed that he'd been civil enough, and reached for the door to close it.

Puzzling enough, the elf lingered. His stare shifted back and forward between the room and the floor.

The former Dragon Priest sighed. "Did your captain say anything else?" He demanded. "Speak or go." Miraak dismissed the boy.

"No, sir, but…umm." The elf stumbled over his words, showing reluctance to leave. How daft could one be? Was that not a clear enough dismissal?

"But?" Miraak told himself not to let such an unworthy opponent get a rise out of him. "What is it already?" This was getting tiring.

"Is she…is she alright?" Skittishly, the Dunmer pointed behind Miraak's shoulder. At the woman spread out on the bed.

Really, that was what this was about? That Breton had her ways of annoying Miraak even when she was passed out cold.

"She's fine." Miraak managed to say through his teeth. He ready had not time nor patience for these kinds of interruptions. "We'll be there on time, just as promised. Tell your captain not to doubt my word, or I shall be forced to deal with him personally. " Miraak let some of his Thu'um infuse his words, and the lad froze, his already wide eyes turned unnaturally so.

"That is all." The First Dragonborn rasped.

Finally — _finally_ — , the elf ran off.


	9. Chapter 9

Being caught between wakefulness and sleep was a funny thing. A state of in-between where Malvina's senses were either too dull or too sharp. She could smell and hear and feel things in short jolts, and it was hard to tell what they meant.  
  
Recently, Malvina never remembered her dreams, and she always woke up feeling restless. She suspected that she was often visited by the Daedra that she'd pledged alliance to. When her soul wasn't being pulled towards Hircine's hunting grounds, that was.  
  
Feeling herself regain consciousness, Malvina made an attempt to open her eyes, and…  
  
It was useless, at first. Her eyelids felt heavy, unresponsive. It took multiple attempts before she managed to pry them open. And when she did, the room was dark anyway. Her vision was blurry. Malvina couldn't make out her surroundings.  
  
Most alarmingly, her body felt weighed down as well, her limbs difficult to move. She couldn't even force her face muscles into a frown.  
  
"My head hurts." That was the first thing she could think to utter, after a few minutes or so assessing the situation. Her voice sounded weak, though, barely a whisper. Great, not only did she lose control over her body, but her voice had also deserted her.  
  
Not one to give up so easily, Malvina tried again, putting more energy behind her words.  
  
"I said…my head hurts." Divines, how long had she been asleep? The last thing Malvina could remember was Miraak casting a healing spell. She'd been dizzy. Her wounds from her battle with the dragon had started to bleed. And now she sounded as if she'd eaten glass, and her whole body was sort of numb.  
  
On another note, the bed felt more comfortable than she remembered it being, which was strange, but nothing to complain about.  
  
Malvina could feel Miraak's presence in the room, but she couldn't see him. She could imagine him, somewhere out of sight, watching her. If she tried, she could even picture his evil smirk. For the sake of her mental health, though, Malvina refrained from doing so.  
  
"I know you're there, why are you ignoring me?" She grunted, closing her eyes for a moment, to rest. Her voice was getting better with use. There was pleasure to be found in the clearer, more familiar sound of it.  
  
It was with great effort that Malvina opened her eyes again, and this time it was easier to see. Her sight adjusted to the candle-lit, unfamiliar room. It was clear now that they were no longer at the inn. And judging by the gentle rocking she could feel, Malvina had a good idea about where she was. This was the cabin she usually rented on Gjalund Salt-Sage's ship.  
  
It took Malvina only a few seconds to spy Miraak's figure across the room from her. The smug bastard was shamelessly eating out of her stock of sweetrolls. Dibella, Melvina so wanted to punch the man for his audacity. Too bad her limbs were not feeling very cooperative. Malvina told herself not to get too upset. There would be time for that later, surely.  
  
It took Miraak a few moments to notice she'd awoken. When he did, he suddenly seemed to lose his appetite.  
  
"Well, look who is finally awake." Miraak addressed her with a blank stare. He placed the plate with the half-eaten treat on the table beside him, and a glint of metal caught Malvina's eye. Miraak's mask was sat on the empty chair on the other side of the table, on top of the man's stack of notes.  
  
An idea entered Malvina's mind, and she forced herself to sit up on the bed. It took two attempts before the woman successfully pushed herself up onto her elbows.  
  
"Hello, Miraak." She threw his name back at him as if it were something foul. The First Dragonborn simply rolled his eyes at her. He busied himself with wiping the sugar off his fingers with a cloth, making a show of ignoring Malvina. The Breton allowed herself a small smirk at how predictable the man was.  
  
While Miraak was willfully not paying her any attention, it was a simple matter for Malvina to use Telekinesis and grab a hold of his mask. Pulling the object towards her with a mental tag, Malvina quickly hid the offensive piece of metal under her pillow. Masterful use of Alteration magic, if she could say so herself. Tolfdir would have been proud. Who said she'd not learned anything useful in College?  
  
Just in time, too, since as soon as Miraak finished his task his eyes immediately went to where his mask had been. For a second, he looked puzzled. Then, he looked at Malvina sourly, and the woman mentally laughed. No doubt, Miraak could tell that Malvina was behind the disappearance of his beloved possession. It was sure to rub him the wrong way.  
  
That was just terrific, in Malvina's opinion, but it was just a start. She would need to inflict a lot more harm than that before she would feel satisfied. All the embarrassment Miraak'd caused her over the last few days was a long way from being fully compensated.  
  
"What do you want now, woman?" The Nord sighed, visibly irritated. His frustrated expression, clear to see now that his face was bare, was delightful.  
  
Forgetting about her plans for revenge for a second, the thief's curiosity was enticed by a stray thought. "Tell me… what did the Captain say when he saw you carrying my unconscious body onto the ship?" The Breton thought she saw the corner of Miraak's lips twitch ever so slightly at her words. An alarming sign, if anything.  
  
The man lifted an eyebrow sarcastically. "Who said I carried you?" He countered her question, and, by the Eight, he was definitely holding back a smirk. Malvina refrained from shuddering at the possible meanings behind such a show of emotion. That vile man… she wouldn't have been surprised to hear that he'd carried her around town over his shoulder, like a bag of Ash Yams.  
  
Malvina bodily shook her head to get rid of the mental image. "Then how in Oblivion did I get on this blasted ship?" She asked. But did she really want to know? Malvina herself was not sure. Uncertainty had never stopped her before, though, as her beat body could attest.  
  
"The innkeeper was kind enough to lend me a wheelbarrow. He hardly uses it anymore, so he did not protest when I asked him for it." The First Dragonborn answered her with pleasure, pleasure at the humiliation he was putting her through, clearly. Oh, Miraak could try to keep his expression vacant all he wanted, but the spark in his eyes gave him away for the sick, sadistic bastard he really was.  
  
"You paraded me around the city in my underclothes, unconscious and unkempt…" Malvina's nostrils flared. "…in a _cart_?"  
  
Perhaps appropriately— although her mother would have most categorically disagreed— , Malvina swore violently. What use was all of her time spent in bars and taverns if she couldn't put it to good use, right?  
  
The Last Dragoborn was so angry that her words poured fast and violently. Out of the river of the insults she was spurting, only some were easy to make out. "…slime! A rotting cadaver would have more sense and wit than your stupid ass… son of a… go lick a wolf between its furry legs… mangled, flea-bitten, poor excuse for a— " The rest she muttered mostly to herself. All while she furiously tried to tear at the bed's furs, as if she was some feral beast. It only served to amuse the First Dragonborn further.  
  
"Being carried in the arms of your 'hired servant' would have been better?" There was a certain irony in the way Miraak threw the words at her. It got to Malvina, even in her angered state.  
  
"Well, if you put it that way…" All kinds of assumptions would have been made, that was for certain. Not one of them innocent or even remotely harmless for Malvina's reputation. People would have labelled her a licentious and vulgar little thing for sure…  
  
_'Oh, but who was she kidding? Like she cared about such things!'_  
  
"Yes, it would have been." The woman declared, pig-headedly.  
  
Miraak could not say he was all that shocked. Her stubbornness had already made itself known as a defining part of the Last Dragonborn's personality.  
  
Mockingly, Miraak laughed under his breath. "Too bad I don't have your best interest at heart, then." He retorted shortly.  
  
Malvina glared at him, conveying all her hatred in that one look. Over the course of their time together, though, it seemed Miraak had developed immunity to Malvina's charming ways of expressing herself. A sad development indeed.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
Meanwhile, Miraak found himself wondering how long Malvina would keep glaring at him if he did nothing about it. Curiosity was a strange thing, and frivolous, but what did Miraak have to lose at this point? Considering all he'd been through recently, Miraak resolved that he would indulge himself. He had to find something to distract himself with over the voyage to Skyrim. Anything to forget about the fact that he was stuck on a wooden deathtrap, surrounded by deep waters. And with only the damned Breton witch for company.  
  
So, Miraak didn't acknowledge Malvina's glare. He simply returned to what he'd been doing before. He'd been in the middle of searching through their supplies before he'd stumbled over a stash of far too many sugary treats. Miraak couldn't say he was a fan of sweetrolls, but Malvina was clearly obsessed with them. He found greater satisfaction in knowing that he was tearing into Malvina's reserves of treats than he did in eating them.  
  
"I hate you." Malvina interjected, while Miraak was examining the side pockets of her travel bag. The woman had managed to maintain her focus while being ignored for only a few minutes, it seemed. Honestly, Miraak had been expecting more discipline from someone of her prestige. How that small woman had managed to slay the World-Eater, he would never be able to understand.  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment." Miraak answered easily. _'Frankly, who did the woman not hate?'_ The First would have asked, but he was not at all interested in her life.  
  
"Is that all you have to say?" She demanded, like a child having a tantrum. The former Dragon Priest supposed that he shouldn't be surprised. Only someone as naive and conceited as a child would ever dare ask what she did of a Daedric Prince. Or of Miraak.  
  
Miraak chose to let his silence answer for itself.  
  
Moments later, the woman's heavy sigh of resignation was a most welcome sound. Miraak allowed himself to relax, but his victory did not last. It wasn't long before the woman opened her mouth again.  
  
"Actually, there was one thing I wanted to ask of you." She claimed. That sort of talk never ended well, and this time would be no exception, Miraak could just feel it. To prove his point, when Miraak lifted his head to face Malvina, the woman was smiling.  
  
Damn that woman. Such a predatorial and insincere display was the last thing that Miraak wanted to have to deal with. Not that Miraak allowed the sense of dread he felt at the sight to show on his face. Despite everything in him screaming that he really shouldn't indulge her, the man knew that he was bound to hear the Breton's request anyway. So, he asked the witch to elaborate. Best to end things quickly. "And what do you want now?" He made sure to let his unwillingness to play along plainly audible in his voice. Not that it made much difference to Malvina that he did. The woman had the incredible talent of effortlessly disregarding the feeling of others.  
  
"Well…" She stretched out the word. "I was thinking that this journey will last at least a few days more, right?"  
  
Miraak grunted, gritting his teeth. "Yes, I hear from the captain that it can take up to six days."  
  
The woman nodded approvingly, happily. Miraak could tell that she was planning something. Another worrying development. Malvina's plans had the habit of putting Miraak in uncomfortable situations. Painful ones, even.  
  
"Well, I'm going to start getting bored soon enough. And so will you, undoubtedly. I've just had an idea that could fix that."  
  
"What kind of idea?" This whole conversation was doing nothing to put Miraak at ease, really.  
  
"To read."  
  
"Read?" What did she even mean by that?  
  
A nod. "Reading! Yes!" She exclaimed. She was probably going out of her way to sound as ambiguous as possible.  
  
What followed could be best described as a tense silence on Miraak's part. Malvina's eyes were filled with a sort of tension too, but of a different kind. Something more like anticipation.  
  
"What is it about reading that you require my involvement for?" Miraak demanded to know when the woman made no further efforts to clarify her meaning. "Are you saying that you want to read what I'm writing?" The man was about to start listing reasons as to why that was a horrible idea. The book wasn't _ready_. The parts that _were_ ready, were not sorted out. The _content_ —  
  
Malvina interrupted him before he could finish his line of thought. Something she loved to do whenever she had the chance. Another ever-annoying reminder of how stupid Miraak had been for not acting more decisevely. He should have killed the vile woman during their first meeting in Apocrypha. He should have struck her down on sight, instead of allowing her to roam Solstheim as she pleased, and become a thorn in his side.  
  
Miraak had always thought that he was good at spotting a disaster from afar, but the past months had proved otherwise. Malvina had been the biggest misfortune to ever befall the First Dragonborn, and he'd never seen it coming.  
  
"Well—" Said harbinger of doom's voice pulled Miraak away from his thoughts. "— I was thinking that you could read some books to me. You don't have anything better to do anyway. And you're supposed to do things for me, aren't you?" Miraak really, really wanted to groan aloud at the nonsense that the woman was spouting. He had better self-control than to do so, though the man wondered why he was even bothering.  
  
"I would rather not." He flatly said. Then, he remembered that he had to share a room with the unstable Breton. Perhaps it was best to give an explanation. "After all, that is something that you can still do yourself." He argued, reasonably, but the Breton's reaction was not at all a desirable one.  
  
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" The woman's tone was deceitfully casual. "But I am recovering after a difficult fight, that required heavy use of my Voice. I could read, sure, but I couldn't do so aloud. And you know I get restless if the room is too quiet." She smiled again, but the only thing that Miraak recognised in the gesture was pure, unaltered evil. There was danger hidden behind her words. "I'm sure you understand."  
  
And Miraak couldn't exactly _disagree_.  
  
Looking back on it, maybe orchestrating to have Malvina maimed by a dragon was not the best idea Miraak had ever had. Now the Breton had another reason to torture him, not that she'd ever really needed one before. The ancient Dragonborn suddenly felt less proud of his scheme.  
  
As if she'd smelled his defeat, Malvina's smile grew bigger. More unhinged. More unseemly. "Great, so we understand each other!" She got more comfortable on her bed. " We'll pick some books to read later. For now, go and bring me something to eat, Nord, I'm starving." She said, ordering Miraak around as if he was her slave.  
  


_'No,'_ Miraak corrected his earlier thinking, _'his idea had had merit'_. Malvina had definitely deserved a beating. Still did.

  
Making up his mind, Miraak vouched that there was no way in Oblivion that he was going to read for Malvina's pleasure. Even at the risk of her going through with her usual dark threats.  
  


Well, that was surely not going to end happily, not that Miraak gave a damn. If a battle of will was to take place, he was sure that he was more than capable enough to best the Last. After all, this was a woman that had let herself be dragged all the way to Solstheim. All on the basis of a vague note and some shady rumours. He'd played her before. _'How hard could it be to do it again?'_

  
Miraak's former master held such knowledge. But it was much fun to let Miraak figure that one out all by himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter done! I hope you're enjoying the journey so far. Also, this chapter is the first time we're starting to read things from Miraak's perspective as well, hopefully that's exciting. ;)
> 
> Till next time!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, here's an early Christmas present for you. Chapter 10 is up! Thank you so much for supporting my story and I hope you find this chapter fun.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> A.

Two days later, Miraak was starting to believe that he would not survive the voyage to Skyrim. Malvina was going to kill him long before they reached the shore. It was as if the woman's sole purpose in life was to torture Miraak. As if she'd been created by some divine power to punish him with her very existence.  
  
She was, at the very least, _trying_ to kill him.  
  
Why was Miraak so certain of that, one might ask?  
  
The sheer amount of complaining the Breton had done over the course of a couple of days was reason enough. And sure, some people might argue that no amount of complaining could count as an attempt on one's life. Those people would be wrong. And they would not be making such claims if they were the ones sharing a small cabin with the monstrous witch.  
  
The First Dragonborn, Miraak, the ancient and knowledgeable former Dragon Priest, was seriously considering drowning himself in the sea to escape the woman's presence. It was a telling enough sign when it came to the extents of Malvina's abilities.  
  
If only the woman had been so passionate about conquering the world as she was about getting on other people's nerves… Well, she would have probably succeeded long before Miraak's attempt at it, to be completely truthful.  
  
It occurred to Miraak that he was giving the Last far too much credit, so he vehemently wiped the traitorous idea out of his mind. _'Curse that vile woman…'_ , he thought. _'She poisoned everything.'_ She was turning even his own thoughts against him.  
  
The woman was exceptional at being annoying, and that was the only _compliment_ she deserved. Miraak needed to not lose sight of that.  
  
It should have hardly been a difficult thing to do, with how obnoxiously Malvina was acting.  
  
First, there were the noises she kept making. The huffing, the sighing, the moaning. Soft, breathy, repetitive sounds that left her mouth in monotone patterns.  
  
The sounds she made were not loud, but they were consistent, though _endless_ was a far better word for it.  
  
The first few hours of that had been tolerable, but even men as ancient as Miraak had their limits. By the start of the second day with no end to her moaning in sight, the man found himself fantasising about throwing the irritating woman overboard. He would have done it, too, was she not under the protection of every Daedra and Aedra in existence! How they have found such an immature woman worthy of anything more than a quick death was beyond Miraak.  
  
Things escalated on the second day. Malvina starting complaining aloud, making as much sense as she usually did. Which was to say: not a lot.  
  
Miraak did his best to ignore the First Dragonborn, but it was a draining exercise in futility. Malvina ranted and bemoaned with unnatural persistence and zeal. She complained about all things, from the state of her wounds to the temperature of the room. Everything and anything seemed to become a suitable subject.  
  
They still had almost four days to go before they reached land.  
  
It was around this time that Miraak started contemplating throwing himself out the window.  
  
The First Dragonborn cursed the day when he'd decided to act out his plan to conquer Malvina's _'beloved'_ world during this lifetime. Why, by the Nine, why? Really, could he have chosen a worse time to do it? Such rotten luck, that this fiend of a Breton awoke as the Last Dragonborn just as Miraak's preparations to invade Nirn finalised. It wasn't even the safety of Nirn that had made Malvina want to stop Miraak to begin with, from what he'd gathered. Miraak was sure that the woman's only motivation to stop him had been her own boredom.  
  
The only force that seemed to move Malvina to action was her desire to be entertained. The last couple of days seemed to certainly confirm that theory.  
  
"…heavy. I swear, I specifically asked the captain to change them after my last trip. You'd think…"  
  
Was she talking about the bed covers? Gods, where did the woman find the energy to make so much noise?  
  
Groggily, Miraak rubbed his temples. He prayed that his exhaustion would finally force him into unconsciousness.  
  
"…are you even listening to me? Honestly, it's not like there's anyone else here for me to talk to, so would you kill you to make conversation? I've been talking to you for the past hour." Her voice was grating, but at least there was no moaning or sighing. It was a small mercy.  
  
"Believe me, I have noticed." And how he wished he hadn't.  
  
Apparently fed up with him, the woman sighed, resting back against her pillow. "Are you always so dull?" She asked.  
  
The First Dragonborn said nothing. Nothing ever got into that thick skull of hers, anyway.  
  
Gods, he just wanted some peace and quiet, was that really so much to ask?  
  
…  
  
…  
  


…

Malvina could feel a headache developing with rapid speed.

The woman wasn't sure what sort of games Miraak was playing, but she was fed up with him already.  
  
He was the worse conversation partner she'd ever had, and she'd help multiple conversations with Maul. A man who preferred using his fists over talking, and when he did talk he growled out his words.  
  
"You're not even pretending to listen to me." She pointed out, growing more and more annoyed with the blank, far-away look on the other Dragonborn's face. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" Frustrated, she clenched her hands into fists.  
  
Miraak only silently glared at her.  
  
Miraak was so set on ignoring her that Malvina felt something inside her snap. She was not quite sure if it was her patience or her resolve.  
  
"Would you at least look at me?" The woman was quite ashamed to discover that her voice reached a very high note. One so high that she could no longer deny that she was wailing in the most obvious and pathetic of ways.  
  
Malvina stopped herself short, telling herself that enough is enough.  
  
 _'I'm still a powerful, capable woman, I will not sound like some pitiful child!'_  
  
And sure, maybe she'd been acting less than dignified for the past few days, but wasn't it understandable? She'd been confined to this bed for days— oh, that wretched, horrible bed, how she wished she could get out of it. More than that, long exposure to Miraak's gloom and stubbornness wasn't helping matters.  
  
This delirium of hers was normal, right? Surely that was the case, and the disgrace she'd made out of herself was no blame of hers! Everything was always Miraak's fault, _right_?  
  
Her conscience feebly whispered that she was being unreasonable. Not in the habit of listening to her conscience, Malvina quickly pushed the thought away. The little bugger was persistent, though. So, the woman finally settled on the good-old-technique of blame-shifting. She would blame everything on the bed.  
  
Yes, _the bed._  
  
Why the bed?  
  
Well, there was that hard lump digging into her back for days now. If that was not reason enough to drive someone mad and cause absurd behaviour, she didn't know what was!  
  
With renewed sharpness in her eyes, Malvina crossed her arms over her chest. She strengthened her resolve and schooled her features into a calm, composed mask.  
  
"I demand that you do something to entertain me at once!" She ordered, out of the blue, to distract herself from her mental lamentations. Her companion's shoulders tensed, but he eventually turned to face her. Miraak's caution and his terrible tiredness, visible in his dark eyes, were signs that acting like a baby could get results too. _'Who would have thought?'_  
  
Miraak stared back at Malvina, hard. "Are you serious?" For a second, she entertained the idea of telling him _'no'_ , just to mess with him, but he looked worn out enough as he was. No need to overdo it, really; what if he exploded?  
  
Opting for something radically different from her usual teasing ways, she kept that out-of-place, calm look. "When am I not?" She asked, in all seriousness, and her blank expression must have disturbed him, since he made a face at her.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
Somehow, Malvina's blank face was more unnerving than the glower she'd been wearing for the last couple of days.  
  
Miraak really did not want to contemplate the possibility that Malvina had other ways of unsettling him. Outside of those that he'd already been acquainted with.  
  
The huge change in behaviour, all undertook in such a short time, convinced the man that she was only trying to play with his head. An attempt to throw him off and catch him off-guard when she finally decided to strike. The only real question was what tactic she would use to try and corner him.  
  
Hiding his discomfort well, Miraak raised an eyebrow. "And what do you propose? Poetry, anecdotes, juggling? Perhaps a dance." His tone was cutting, full of sarcasm and ire. "Should I _twirl_ for you, too?" The idea alone was enough to make him want to shudder.  
  
For a moment, much to his horror, Malvina seemed to contemplate his proposal. Miraak realised he should not be giving the vile woman any ideas. She was crazy enough to take them seriously, and even try to make them happen. When she finally shook her head, Miraak was more than a bit relieved.  
  
"I insist that you read to me. It is your duty to serve me after all." Of course, she would suggest something almost as bad.  
  
"Oh, not that nonsense again!" One of his hands gestured angrily to the side, and she followed the movement with dim interest. The man found himself thinking not for the first time that her eyes were strangely serpentine. "I've already told you, time and time again, I am neither your slave nor your pet! I have no duty before you but to write that damn book!" He finished in a huff, the perfect embodiment of one who had been repeatedly tested by Fate. And who had no more patience for it.  
  
"Oh, come off it!" Malvina huffed in turn, not concerned, and most definitely not impressed. "I told you before: _you are mine_. You need to obey me. I want you to read to me; so which part of that was not clear to you?"  
  
Miraak sent her a look that told her she could go hang herself, for all he cared.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
Malvina had not really expected collaboration, and so Miraak's refusal to obey her came as no surprise.  
  
So Miraak wanted a war, did he? Well, he was in for a surprise.  
  
In a moment of inspiration, one of Malvina's hands slipped under the pillow she was not using. She felt around until she grabbed hold of something cool and smooth. With a devious half-smile, she carefully placed the item onto her lap.  
  
Malvina never fought fair.

The woman felt oddly giddy at the thought of teaching Miraak that lesson.

Miraak had just opened his mouth to protest once more, but then he caught sight of his missing mask. His movements were promptly brought to a halt. Malvina saw the man struggle not to let this anger take over him. She could see his vision bleed red, though. Metaphorically, at least.  
  
"Why do you have my mask?" He asked tightly, and Malvina simply raised a brow. She was the Thieves Guild's Guildmaster, after all. Miraak's surprise was almost insulting.  
  
"Well, I was just thinking about trading it for your cooperation. What do you say?" With practised ease, the woman caressed the ancient metal with her fingertips. A half-smile pulled at her lips.  
  
Meanwhile, Miraak couldn't help but replay the sound of her moaning in his head. A dirty trick, enough to make his temper flare. She'd probably wanted him to get such vulgar thoughts stuck in his mind, the paranoid side of him pointed out.  
  
Alright, to Oblivion with control, the wench was pushing his buttons!

"I would think better about that, if I were you…" The Nord growled, an air of hostility surrounding him.

Dark energy tentacles started spawning out of his back. They reached her in a moment, as long and dark as the man's shadow. They wrapped around Malvina's forearms like vines, gripping her painfully.

"I do not think you want to provoke me when you've barely able to stand up on your own." His gaze was sharp and his breathing sounded heavier, and Malvina could tell he was angry. Really angry.

Malvina knew that such a violent reaction could have been avoided. All it would have taken would've been for her to be the slightest bit less open about her intentions of blackmailing Miraak. She ignored that piece of information. What could she say, it was always a pleasure to see him get all ruffled up.  
  
"I think I know what I'm doing, thank you." She commented, dismissing his warning without a second thought. She was in pain, but she grinned as she let some of her magicka loose. Electricity ran through Malvina's core, past Miraak's projected arms. They jolted Miraak, and the man retreated his attack.  
  
Miraak growled again, under his breath this time, a sound of defeat. Another human might have missed it, but Malvina's senses were far too sharp not to pick up the sound. She smiled.

"Look what we are going to do." Malvina started, laying down her conditions. "You'll give me your word that you'll write and read to me what and when I want it and I'll let you keep this old thing here." The Last Dragonborn made a show of examining Miraak's mask as she spoke. The patterns were interesting, she would give it that. The piece of apparel was still ugly, though.

"I've been planning on selling it once we got to Skyrim since it annoys me horribly. Luckily for you, though, I'm willing to let you bargain it back." The woman lifted her head to look at him, tearing her eyes away from the hideous thing.

"Excuse me?" Miraak erupted, very clearly angered. "Since when was my mask yours to give away?" His voice sounded like an explosion, and she realised his anger had caused the power of his Thu'um to seep into his words. "You expect me to try to win back something of mine? Something which you insolently stole?"  
  
The Breton cringed. Malvina was not really afraid of Miraak, or his silly energy tentacles. But she wasn't stupid enough to fail to grasp the danger his Voice posed while on a boat in the middle of endless water. She really, really hoped he would not Shout her to Oblivion and beyond in his frenzied state.  
  
If she stopped provoking him, he would probably agree to her deal without more violence. Everyone with enough sense would know to stop antagonising the First: a man with the capacity to call upon storms with his Voice. And also a man with little left to lose.  
  
"You either play by my rules, or you can say goodbye to your precious belonging." Alright, so _'everyone with enough sense'_ did not include her, big deal…  
  
"Dragonborn…" His voice resounded, furiously, but Malvina simply shrugged.  
  
The truth of the matter was that Miraak had a great voice. Malvina like hearing the smug bastard speak, even when he was cursing at her. She wouldn't give up so easily on getting him to read to her; especially when she was so bored. She told herself this was a battle she would not lose.  
  
"Come on, mind your temper, it's a good deal. If you accept, I'll never touch this thing again." She promised in a too-sweet tone. "And, anyway, it's not like you shouldn't have expected me stealing your things. I do that for a living. It's your fault for not being careful enough." Her self-assured speech was, well, not the best idea; not that she was all that worried about it. Surely Miraak was used to her condescending attitude by now, right?  
  
She thought he was one of his eyes twitch, she could see the veins on his neck pulse with tension. Widening her own eyes innocently, Malvina pursed her lips together as she waited for his answer. Miraak's response was to bare his teeth, and Malvina had to say, he did look ready to kill someone.  
  
The Breton blinked, ignoring her gathering apprehension. There were more important things to do than let Miraak intimidate her.  
  
"So, what do you say?" She tried to move things along.  
  
Miraak growled again and muttered something to himself angrily. A promising enough development — after all, he hadn't tried to kill her. Not again. Not just yet.  
  
"Fine." It was as if that one word had been pulled out of his mouth against his will. He had probably agreed against his better judgement. "I'll warn you only once though, never touch my belongings again."  
  
He was dead serious, but the fierce look he fixed her with was an oddly satisfying response. The Breton was starting to suspect that something was definitely wrong with her. She was becoming far too invested in Miraak's reactions. Maybe she had a fever?  
  
Before she could develop the thought further, though, Miraak suddenly started approaching the bed. It was enough to bring the woman back to the present. Without wasting a second, Miraak tugged his mask away from Malvina's fingers.  
  
The woman smiled, not wanting him to be able to tell that he'd taken her by surprise. Miraak's movements were quick. If he'd done that from the start, she wouldn't have been able to stop him, and that was unpleasant to think about.  
  
She desperately needed entertainment, after all.  
  
"You can start right now." Happily, she snatched her pack from under the bed. Bending with some difficulty, she dug in to look for something to read.  
  
"Ah, _'The Rear Guard'_ , this should do!" Malvina presented the book to him enthusiastically. She gave a mental laugh at the solemn look on Miraak's face. He wanted to sneer at her, she could just tell, but his restrain was admirable. Hers wasn't — not at the moment —, and she gave in to the urge to grin.  
  
Miraak sighed, dragged his chair to the side of her bed, and resigned to his fate.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the delay in posting this, the past few weeks were a bit crazy. You can thank Covid-19 for that, but I'd rather not get into details. 
> 
> Things would also move along a bit faster if I have a Beta, but alas, I am all alone here. _(If anyone is interested in the position, make sure to get in touch!)_
> 
> In any case, hope you enjoy the update and thank you for all the comments! :D

Despite much faffing around on Miraak's part — Malvina liked to have something to chew on when enjoying a book. It took him over an hour to return with some snacks, really? They were on a boat in the middle of the sea, it wasn't like there was much chance of him getting lost. Malvina wasn't born yesterday. She could tell when someone was stalling, thank you very much. —, he did end up reading the _'Rear Guard'_ to her as per her request. Even more, the woman managed to bully her fellow Dragonborn into reading to her again later that day. She picked _'Incident at Necrom'_ as her second choice of entertainment for the afternoon, and it proved a most thrilling story indeed.

And that's how Malvina found herself dealing with yet another unhealthy obsession. Which, in itself, wasn't such a surprising development. Malvina had a predisposition toward fixating on things. She was the first one to admit to it.

When she was a small child, she'd been obsessed with gaining her mother's approval. It had driven her to the point where she'd taken up embroidery and other womanly pursuits.

_'Oh, such horrid memories! Such hopeless naivety.'_

Malvina realised, eventually, that her efforts were a waste of time. It didn't take long for her to move on towards bigger and better things after that. She became engrossed with old teachings and stories and started collecting books. One of her earliest fixations, and also one of the only ones that stuck with her over the years. Thus started her pursuit of knowledge. Of power.

The Last Dragonborn went on to discover many other things to obsess over as she grew older. She obsessed over gems, and daggers, and just shiny things in general. Next came her interest in destruction magic. Then there were horses and horse-riding. Her parents didn't always approve of her interests, but they didn't care enough to intervene either. Later though, when the handsome Bosmer boy tending the stables caught her eye, things changed. It marked the start of the end of Malvina's life in High Rock…

But there was no need to think too hard about the past.

All of this was a long way of saying that it was common for Malvina to have fixations. Some more harmless than others. Not many of them lasted for long, and so the woman was not concerned.

What was her new obsession? Oh, surely it was an easy guess.

Of course, all the fuss was about her fellow Dragonborn's voice!

Why was she narrating her thoughts, as if she was addressing a crowd? Well… the woman wasn't sure. She suspected that it had something to do with hearing Miraak playing both narrator and characters while he read.

Not that she was complaining, oh, most definitely not.

No matter the man's somehow lacking sense of humour, Miraak was an amazing narrator. Malvina found herself truly enjoying the sound of the man's rumbling, deep voice. The statement seemed to hold true even when Miraak wasn't reading out a good book. Malvina found that there was nothing she would rather do other than listen to the Nord's voice. No doubt a result of being stuck with Miraak as her only source of stimulation for so many days. It didn't matter what he was talking about; the sound of his voice was enough. After all, when did Miraak ever say anything relevant, to begin with?

 _'I am a person!', 'You are mad.', 'There is no way you can fit so many things in that silly pouch of yours.', 'Stop glaring at me.', 'I am not your toy!', 'I would kill for some silence…'_ — no, nothing he ever said held much value, or often made sense.

Was her new fixation a bit creepy? Probably.

Did she care? Not really.

During the course of only a couple of days, Malvina had managed — no matter by what means— to keep Miraak glued to her side. And now to get him to listen to her demands to entertain her. Malvina relished in her achievement. It was a show of her cunning and power over her fellow Dragonborn. Forcing Miraak to read to her had been a serendipitous stroke of genius. Malvina was already looking forward to making it happen again. There was no way she was letting Miraak off the hook after developing such a taste for the sound of his voice. And there wasn't much that Miraak could feasibly do about it, was there? The Breton held back a grin. This new arrangement of theirs was really to her liking.

Naturally, Miraak was not in a good mood at this turn of events. Perhaps he could sense Malvina's nefarious intentions? No matter, the Dragon Priest was going to have to deal with it either way.

"Now I kind of get why Daedra Princes go out of their way to make deals with unsuspecting victims…" Malvina muttered to herself. There really was such perverse satisfaction to be gained from tricking someone into thinking that they had any say in how things turned out. It was amusing to see their useless struggle and foolish confidence in the face of the inevitable.

"What are you mumbling about?" The Last Dragonborn startled, not having expected Miraak to initiate conversations after she allowed him a break. His voice, Malvina noticed, sounded a bit off. Throaty. Oh, that was not good, was his throat sore? For a brief second, Malvina panicked at the thought.

No, no, no— that could not happen. He needed to be able to read to her at all hours, for hours on end! She liked his voice too much to be satisfied with hearing him read only two books.

Much like an addiction, Malvina's newly-found obsession gave rise to cravings, after all. It needed to be fed.

"Dragonborn?" The subject of her distorted thoughts inquired again, and his voice really was so deep and smooth. Malvina felt goosebumps at the sound of it. _'Gods, she had it bad, didn't she? She was truly and hopelessly sick.'_

Vaguely, Malvina recognised that acting so affected by Miraak was not ok. Miraak's voice, no matter how delicious— she mentally cringed at her own choice of words— , was still part of the man. The same man that had tormented her for the last months of her life. And very much still expressed desires to kill her. It wasn't right to _'crave'_ anything to do with Miraak. Malvina needed to not lose sight of that.

Realizing that Miraak had yet to look away, she turned to face him, blinking quickly. What did he ask, again?

Oh, _oh_ , right—

"Do you think dragons ever get a sore throat?" That's strange, the Breton was pretty sure that wasn't what she'd meant to say when she'd opened her mouth. With a mental shrug, the woman decided she could very well peruse this new topic. " Think about it, they Shout in order to talk, right? I mean, I never feel sore after using the Thu'um, but I don't go around using it a dozen times in one conversation."

Miraak's silence spoke for itself. He looked at her incredulously. "What kind of question is that?" He scrutinized her as if he wanted to check for any signs of mental illness. "Tell me, woman…" He started to say, and by Nocturnal, it was hard not to be distracted by how nice his voice was. Even with that slight rough timbre to it. Or maybe because of it? "You wouldn't happen to indulge in Skooma, would you?"

Her nose wrinkled in repulsion at the thought of such a thing. Really now, what would make him think that?

Malvina waved away the First Dragonborn's question with a royal motion of her hand.

"You wanted to know what I was musing about, right?" She challenged with an eyebrow raised, standing her ground.

Miraak simply shook his head, the yellow metal of his awful mask catching the light of the nearby lamp. He pushed himself out of his chair and started to pace the room, seemingly agitated.

He muttered something, but he spoke too low for the woman to catch any words. Malvina's brow stayed high on her forehead.

"What?" She asked him, after watching him for a while. He had nice legs, she noticed. Malvina blinked, once, twice, thrice, for good measures, shaking the thought off. _'Bad Malvina. Don't go there.'_

"Do not insult my intelligence with such foolish evasions." He snapped but did not stop pacing.

"Excuse me?"

" _Do dragons ever get a sore throat?_ " Miraak repeated Malvina's earlier question. His tone was stripped of emotion, but Malvina could read the sarcasm and ire behind it. Obsessing over his voice again, anyone? "Do you even hear yourself talk? The sort of nonsense you are spouting is truly extraordinary. If you do not care to speak clearly, refrain yourself from speaking at all. Ridiculous woman." The last part passed his lips muffled by a cough, but the Breton heard it and narrowed her eyes nevertheless.

"Well…" Malvina drawled. "Excuse me for having an inquisitive mind. " She put some effort into making her smile look positively wicked. It paid out in the end since it caused Miraak to stiffen and stop, standing, in the middle of the room. She could tell that he was annoyed. Good. Why should she be the only one affected by their interactions?

His mask was still in her way, but she could see his dark, bottomless eyes move behind the slits of the ancient metal. They finally fixed in on hers.

Malvina felt the strangest shiver of something like excitement travel up her spine at the eye contact. It confused her. _'Strange.'_ — she thought, but quickly shrugged it off. Maybe it was because of something she ate. That boar meat they've had for lunch did taste a bit suspicious. Not that the food was ever good lately.

"If you have time to complain at me, maybe I need to put you to work again," Malvina concluded, breaking the brief and tense silence. "I like you much better when you're occupied anyway." The Breton absent-mindedly admitted. Then, she reached for her pack and threw a book Miraak's way. It was a great way to move the conversation back to safer territory. And if it meant she got to listen to Miraak read again?

Well, all the better.

…

…

…

Miraak caught the book, if only by reflex.

 _'Is she trying to kill me?'_ He wondered, not for the first time in the past few days. _'Surely she doesn't expect me to keep reading throughout the night. I hadn't even had the chance to eat yet. Surely— '_

Well, that was a thought…

"I do believe it's time for dinner." He commented smoothly. His mask remained an efficient barrier between them. Bringing up food always seemed to catch Malvina's interest. It would hopefully distract the Breton enough to make her forget about her unreasonable demands for a while. Or at least postpone the whole ordeal for a short while longer.

"We can eat later." Malvina decided for the both of them in a blink of an eye, her glaze hawk-like and firm. "We agreed, remember? You would read to me whenever I wanted." She spoke lowly, dangerously so. "Unless the growling of your stomach starts to interrupt us, food can wait. "

Well, that was discouraging. Miraak hadn't thought that the woman had it in herself to deny him even the most basic of needs. He should not have underestimated the Last Dragonborn's frivolous capacity for cruelty, he realised. Once again, the understanding came to him too late. 

"Come on, I really want to hear it." Malvina beckoned him closer with a smile. She eyed the book she'd thrown at him with great interest and her smile grew bigger. It made him uncomfortable, setting his entire being on edge.

He, Miraak, the mighty First, squirmed under Malvina's intense stare. It was humiliating. The man forced himself to appear calm. He let go of a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and relaxed his shoulders.

With a bitter sense of disgust, Miraak admitted to himself that he was slightly — just a tad — impressed. No mortal, let alone a woman, had ever unnerved him so before. Considering how long he'd been alive, it was something of an achievement, he supposed. Hiding a deep frown behind the metal of his mask, Miraak gripped the book tightly in between his fingers.

He could feel a headache settle in already. Miraak's first instinct was to vent his frustration out on something. Maybe cuss his fate aloud.

He couldn't do that, though. Malvina's very intrusive, bothersome, infuriating presence made sure of that. Was it too much to ask for a moment of solitude? He would be damned before he showed more weakness in front of the Last.

Feeling defeated, Miraak grumpily sat back down in the chair he'd claimed as his, a mess of anger and frustration.

"Are you… sulking?" His tormentor inquired, amused. Her head fell to the side to better look at him from her position on the bed. She looked awfully comfy for someone that apparently hated the piece of furniture so much. And he should know, she'd been very vocal about it, after all.

Her dark hair, loose and wild since that ordeal with the dragon, fell back with the motion. It allowed Miraak to catch a glimpse of the skin of her neck and collarbone. _'Stupid woman.'_ He mentally scoffed, gazing at the revealed flesh. Why hadn't she put something more appropriate on? She was going to catch a cold.

That was completely intentional, no doubt. She was probably planning to use any illness as an excuse to force Miraak to do even more things for her.

_'As if her body wasn't healing slowly enough as it was'._

Miraak lowly groaned, wanting to slap himself. Why, in the name of Oblivion, did he care about whatever she got sick or not?

"I think you are definitely sulking!" Malvina concluded, smirking. Apparently, the Breton had taken that sound as some sort of affirmation.

Which was absurd, since Miraak did _not_ sulk!

"Mind your tongue! I was only lamenting your hyperactive imagination and complete lack of common sense." He lashed at her, a bit defensively, and she didn't fail to notice. Of course, she didn't. After all, when did Miraak ever catch a break?

"Why, you…"

"Let's just get this over with." He cut in, his mood more than a little soured. The woman had such a draining effect on him.

The book she'd given him looked to be deceivingly thin, small, with a yellowed, plain cover. He lifted a brow under his mask and turned to watch Malvina suspiciously.

"Well?"

"This is it? The last book for today?"

The Breton bit down on her bottom lip, reluctantly, but nodded. If Miraak knew anything about Malvina, he would guess that she probably wanted to have him reading to her nonstop. But she wasn't stupid. It was for the best that she didn't push for more. No doubt she could see the tiredness in his voice. And she was, despite her dismissive words earlier, aware that the former Dragon Priest did need to eat. No matter how much he himself disliked the thought.

It did not escape Miraak's knowledge that she'd purposely picked the thinnest book in her pack to throw at him. She'd probably not even bothered to check the contents. Malvina was more of a quantity over quality type of person, anyway. It seemed any book would do.

 _'Books are books, after all: wonderful and most definitely not evil.'_ Miraak remembered the woman musing aloud at some point.

Or maybe she just wanted to torment Miraak by making him do things for her, and it wasn't about the books at all.

Well, she could definitely be petty, the man knew. It wouldn't surprise him if that was turned out to be true.

Back to the conversation at hand, Malvina grinned winningly. "Yes, let's ay this is the last one for today. I have a good feeling about it!" Her voice hitched ever so slightly in her excitement. She was unrestrained in her reactions. Malvina was like that whenever she thought that she had the advantage in their little game of dominance, he'd noticed.

With lukewarm interest, Miraak opened the thin book, only to tense once again. _'Really, was this some kind of joke?'_ , he wondered. He glared angrily at the woman and tried to judge if she had done it on purpose.

Malvina seemed curious enough, but the telling, devious glint was missing from her eyes. Well, damn, the Gods did hate him. A random pick, and it had to be something like this?

 _"Thief of Virtue."_ He read aloud, his reluctance only vaguely making itself heard. He had a pretty good idea of what this story was like.

This was just embarrassing, he thought.

Malvina fidgeted with the furs covering her legs, and Miraak turned to watch her. He noticed that her face was a shade pinker than the rest of her. Still flushed with excitement. Or maybe it was because of the too-heavy covers?

The sight of her pink cheeks put ideas in Miraak's head. The man wondered if the Breton would flush the same colour from embarrassment. The next hour was bound to be awkward. But, Miraak concluded with a small, hidden smirk, why shouldn't she share in on the mortification? He was sure he could make that happen, without much effort. There were plenty of things he could do to _elevate_ the story in the book he'd been told to read. 

Miraak watched Malvina coil deeper into the furs in blissful ignorance of what was to come and smiled wickedly to himself. After a moment's consideration, the man slowly removed his mask. Not only would it muffle his voice and obscure his vision, but he wanted her to be able to see his smirks.

Oh, she would share in on the pain, she would.

He would make sure of that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the pause in updates, real-life responsibilities kept me away. Then, there was also the fact that in this chapter the flow was particularly hard to get right. As I am still without a Beta, I'm a bit nitpicky at times. 
> 
> Oh right, and I was trying to write a bit for my other Skyrim story that I've neglected for months. I might post that here as well at some point or another.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

She could take him.

There was nothing Miraak could throw at her that Malvina couldn't handle. Nothing at all, she told herself.

Yes, the position he's put her in was a bit uncomfortable. And the things he was doing with his hands and his voice — oh, that wicked voice— were distracting. They sent warmth to her face. But Miraak would need more than mere heat to rattle Malvina…

As if he could sense her challenge, Miraak decided to intensify his efforts.

"… come to plunder my virtue?"

Malvina felt her cheeks flush against her better efforts to stay cool. A lone whine slipped past her lips.

_'Oh, by the Eight…'_

Malvina snuck a look at the man's face to see if he'd noticed her slip, and was awarded the full intensity of his gaze. Which was the opposite of what she'd hoped for. But Malvina was not some innocent little lass that was going to bashfully look away from him, damn it. She refused to cower in front of Miraak. The more she maintained the eye contact, though, the more Malvina found herself unsettled. Her face was already undeniably red. Her hands were growing clammy and she could hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Eventually, she did look away, staring at the ceiling to calm herself down. A humiliating defeat.

Her fellow Dragonborn chuckled in response, the sound low and smug and far too distracting. There was no doubt whatsoever that Miraak was toying with Malvina for his own pleasure.

The cheek of the man!

Malvina would have retaliated with violence, but he started talking again before she had the chance to act. "Nay, fair lady,— " He started to say, a hint of sarcasm behind his words. Not even that was enough to distract her from how much she liked the sound of his voice, though. Despite her efforts, the Nord had gotten under her skin. His voice was his most dangerous weapon, and he wielded it skillfully. Malvina braced herself with a deep breath, released her bottom lip from the grip of her teeth. But only after she was sure that she wasn't going to make any other embarrassing noises.

The Dragon Priest was good, she'd give him that. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Malvina wasn't sure if she should be intrigued or enraged. But did it even matter? Miraak's voice rolled over Malvina like a summer's heat, and she could do nothing but listen.

"Plunder be a harsh term to ply upon such a delicate flower as your virtue; would you not say?" The Breton was sure her ears were pink after hearing such words leave that sly, cunning mouth of his. But he remained unfazed. Miraak readjusted his position in his chair and kept going. And Malvina found herself momentarily distracted by the length of his legs. He was so comically big, it was a miracle that the chair hadn't collapsed under his weight.

Blinking herself back into focus, Malvina tried to catch up with what he was saying.

"Ravius looked deeply into her eyes and saw the only path by which he would escape this night with his life. It would require a double sacrifice. Though— "

Oh, right…

_'Right'_ , Malvina remembered herself, _'he was only reading her a story.'_ No need to respond so exaggeratedly— no matter how tingly hearing such things in his voice made her. She was still the Last Dragonborn, Defeater of Alduin and holder of many more titles. She would not fall at Miraak's hands— voice, gods, it was his voice— and his childish attempts to make her squirm.

Right, of course!

"Tell me, oh beauteous one— "That came out husky, a _good_ kind of husky. A very _bad_ kind of good husky. "—why doest thy husband set seven deadly traps around these tawdry coins, but only a simple lock upon the door of his virtuous wife?"

Damn him, since when did she become so easily-affected? Malvina had always had a gift for disregarding other people, as well as their feeling, opinions, and possessions. Whatever had happened? Was she really fighting with herself to keep her composure over listening to Miraak speak— her, of all people?

Preposterous!

"I would give all the gold in my possession to spend but a moment basking in your radiance." Miraak went on to say, with exaggerated emotion. Malvina resolutely did not look at him, lest she gave away any more of her struggle.

She busied herself by pulling at the loose threads of the bed covers. All the while, her fingers ached to fiddle with something sharp instead. But her dagger was too far away and she didn't think it would help calm her down with how things were.

"With that Ravius set down the coins he had worked so hard to steal." Miraak continued to read. Malvina could feel his stare burning into the side of her face.

_'Except that cannot be right.'_ A voice in the back of her mind pointed out. _'He cannot be looking at me and at the text at the same time.'_

Startled by the realisation, Malvina looked up again. And sure enough, Miraak was staring at her.

"The Baroness swooned into his arms." He narrated as he made full eye contact, and Malvina's eyes widened in surprised. A strange feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

Had Miraak planned this? Had he somehow predicted what book she would ask him to read and came up with a ploy to plant images and ideas in her head? He did enjoy teasing her. As well as shaming her for her perversions.

Not even Malvina had known what book she would pick, though, so there was no way for him to know the content in advance. Or was he really not boasting when he'd claimed he'd consumed all the books in Mora's library? Was it possible that he could remember their contents by heart?

Miraak cleared his throat as he pushed on, and Malvina was snapped out of her paranoid mussing.

"Her thin lips parted in bliss as the thief pulled her closer into his embrace."

A thought occurred to her, and, with it, something akin to hope bloomed in the woman's chest. Maybe Miraak was just trying to finish the reading as quickly as possible, and her worry was unfounded. After all, why else would he keep pushing on with the story like that? Malvina had read _'A Thief of Virtue'_ a long time ago as a curious teen. The embarrassing parts were over with from what she could tell. There was only a page or two of the book left. It wasn't like he was anxious to get to the good part, so—

"The lady moaned loudly, caught unguarded by the hand that sneaked up her skirts, and, in a moment of boldness, she pushed herself against—"

Wait… Malvina was sure that wasn't part of the story. She would have remembered. The book getting into so many details would have earned it a place in Malvina's special collection.

What was he— what was Mirask doing?

"— the man. Even if she was nothing much to look at, the heat of her body awakened an eager response from Ravius— "

Malvina stopped her fidgeting and could only watch Miraak with wide eyes. A feeling of alarm took over her senses. The book was sitting in his lap, closed and out of mind, and it was obvious that he was not following the original story anymore. But it couldn't be— he wasn't actually adding heat to the story just to make her uncomfortable, was he?

It was absurd. Surely, Miraak had too much pride to put himself in such a position. Right?

"Veronique accepted him all-too-willingly. They stumbled together into the fine silks of her bedsheets, entangled in each other. As she watched him, her gaze half-lidded, he climbed into the bed."

Malvina listened to Miraak, transfixed, horrified, and more than a bit hot in the cheeks. She watched the evil that shone in his eyes, and couldn't believe what she was seeing.

All right, so Miraak would not normally put himself in this position, but he had no problem doing it if he could drag Malvina down with him. Was that it?

_'Sadistic bastard.'_

"The man sighed quietly. He placed his mouth upon her skin and— " Miraak stopped, raising an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, Dragonborn?" He asked, acting innocent. As if he anything close to 'innocent'! With the sort of misdeeds linked to his name, it was bold of him to pretend. With the sort of dirty things he was spouting, it was truly shameless.

On another note…

Gods, did he have to sound so sinful when he called her by her title? And was the rumble in his voice really necessary? The Breton bit down on her bottom lip hard and watched him accusatory.

"What— " Malvina swallowed, finding that her throat was dry. "What exactly are you doing?" Her voice was, perhaps, just a bit too shrill. She'd gut him if he dared bring it up.

"Why, I'm surprised at the question." He murmured, thoroughly enjoying himself. "You of all people should know." The Nord smiled mockingly. He sounded far too smug for Malvina's liking.

"Really now?" It was hard, yes, but she thought she was still working that whole cool, unaffected façade.

"It was you who asked for one last book before bed, wasn't it? I thought I'll make it memorable." He looked at her sharply, and that smile was predatory. "Why? Am I making you uneasy?" He crooked his head like a bird— a crow trying to see if its meal was still kicking. The mental image was not welcomed. "Should we call it a night?"

If there was one thing that could be said about Malvina, it was that she could recognise a challenge when she saw one. And she'd never been one to back down from provocation.

"No, of course." She refused to cringe or to let her voice quiver. She refused! "Do carry on, it was just getting interesting."

Gods, she hated her own pride sometimes.

"As you wish."

He only spared a second to smirk forebodingly at her, not that she noticed, distracted as she was. Maybe it was for the best.

Either way, it was going to be a long night.

…

…

…

The next morning, Malvina forced herself out of bed at first light, wounds be damned!

She'd been unable to sleep. Her mind had run rampant picturing too many sensual encounters. She'd struggled with feeling too hot in her own skin, and with the frustration of not being able to do anything about it.

She'd refused to give Miraak the satisfaction of touching herself in the middle of the night. It was one thing to be affected — she was a warm-blooded woman, after all—, but it was an entirely different thing to act on it. Acting on it gave Miraak power over her.

It went without saying, when she marched on deck in a forceful stride, that Malvina was furious.

Upon seeing the dark bangs under her eyes, Miraak had the gall to look amused.

"Good morning, Dragonborn, how was your sleep?"

"Don't— " She inhaled. "Don't speak to me." She ordered, a bit too sharply.

She absolutely loathed the way his lips jerked upwards slightly at her reply.

If he thought that he had earned himself a victory, Miraak was more foolish than she'd originally thought.

Malvina scoffed and allowed herself to stew in thoughts of revenge. He was a fool indeed if he thought that he could humiliate her and get away with it. Fool enough to make an enemy out of the woman even the Brotherhood feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope this update wasn't too boring or awkwardly paced. Updates might be a bit slower in the next weeks, but I'll do my best not to keep you waiting too long. Until next time!


	13. Chapter 13

There wasn't much to do on the deck. Malvina found herself watching the sunrise as a way to pass the time. It wasn't a bad view, she supposed, and it helped settle her angry energy.  
  
Watching the sun as it hovered over the sea line and cast its glow over the water was almost calming. It was a big change from the annoyance Malvina had felt towards sunrises recently. A very understandable annoyance, at that. For the past few mornings, the sun's brilliant glow had done nothing else but disturb her sleep. It had made Malvina regret not bringing Auriel's Bow with her during her trip to Solstheim. One nicely aimed Bloodcursed Elven Arrow and she wouldn't have had to put up with the sun glaring in her eyes.  
  
The thought of being able to shoot at her problems to make them go away was a comforting one for Malvina.  
  
"Ahh, good times…" She mused, thinking fondly of the times when life was always that simple. The good-old-days when everything could be solved with a bit of bloodshed and violence. She sounded like her great-aunt Lysolda, she realised: old and self-pitying. Reminiscing about the past was very much the old crone's style. The only thing missing was the judgement grumbling about today's youth.  
  
"Talking to yourself again, I take it?" Miraak's voice startled Malvina out of her own thoughts. Malvina was still bitter about her recent humiliation, or she might have welcomed the distraction. Not much to do on this blasted ship, indeed. And none of the crew was brave enough to engage in conversation with her. Not after the last incident with the deckhand that somehow found himself thrown overboard.  
  
Looking back at it, she really should have been more careful with how she handled Gjalund's crew. Self-control had never been Malvina's strong point, though. Not outside _'working hours'_ , anyway.  
  
And it was Lygrleid's own fault for trying to cheat at cards against the Last Dragonborn in the first place. They should have been grateful that she only pushed him into the water. Malvina would have very much liked to cut off that cheating hand of his instead. And after they pulled Lygrleid back up the man had been perfectly fine. He didn't even catch a cold. "Lucky, dim-witted, undeserving bastards…" Malvina muttered under her breath.  
  
Well, to the Void with it, she didn't need company anyway. And she especially was not in the mood to talk to Miraak: just another cocky Nord bastard that thought that he was smarter than her. There were dime a dozen, it seemed. Even on such a small ship.  
  
"Bugger off, Nord." She spoke gruffly, half-turning her head to glare at Miraak.  
  
Miraak chuckled, because he was a bastard, and clearly he could not take a hint. And also because he probably knew it would irritate Malvina. Or maybe he was just feeling friendly?  
  
_'Right.'_ Malvina mentally rolled her eyes. _'And werewolves love silver.'_  
  
Not that it mattered. Malvina was not interested in exchanging pleasantries with her fellow Dragonborn.  
  
"Still touchy, I see." He spoke, and it was unfair that his voice was so difficult to tune out. "Care to join me for lunch in the captain's cabin?" He offered the invitation in an entirely too casual way. Evidently indicating something horrible had been planned in that inflated head of his.  
  
"Lunch in the captain's cabin?" The woman arched an eyebrow in suspicion. "For what reason would Gjolund allow such a thing?" Sure, if she had been the one making the request, the captain would have agreed. Her reputation preceded her. But Miraak was... Well, a _'servant'_ would be the best word for it. He was technically powerless.  
  
"My charm is unquestionable." Her fellow Dragonborn answered, boastingly, and Malvina allowed a look of bewilderment to cross her face.  
  
Miraak? _Charming?_  
  
"Who told you that lie?" She snored, laughing despise herself.  
  
"Women of finer taste than you." Was his immediate sharp retort. And Malvina wouldn't have reacted, but the way he eyed her up and down somehow made her furious again. Her laughter died down in an instant, and just when she thought he had finally acquired a sense of humour.  
  
To Oblivion with that, she supposed.  
  
"Oh, just go and throw yourself off High Hrothgar, will you?" Actually, that sounded like a good idea. She could arrange it herself, come to think of it.  
  
"Only if you come with me." He concurred, and she battered her eyelashes at him innocently.  
  
"Who else is going to make sure you actually go through with it?" Was her sugar-coated response, poison dripping through every word.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
Miraak studied Malvina with a calculated eye and a calm expression. The Last Dragonborn's threats did not scare him. Not because Miraak thought that the woman's wasn't serious, of course.  
  
The man didn't think that she was bluffing. Miraak had seen some of the things the Breton would be willing to do to satisfy her personal whims. The Last was a woman of excess and impulses, and she was easily capable of throwing him off a mountain in a fit of anger.  
  
She could do far worse than that, in fact, and there was little Miraak could do to stop her.  
  
So, he asked himself, why should he act afraid? The woman was a ticking bomb and could decide to kill him as she pleased.  
  
At least, ruffling her feathers was an amusing way to pass the time.  
  
"Big words for someone of such a small stature." He baited her, not having had enough of pushing her buttons.  
  
Honestly, she wasn't that much shorter than an average Breton woman. Miraak was just annoyingly tall. He had been born with great stature and had towered over others even during his first lifetime. He was tall even by Nord standards. There was something particularly satisfying about having such a physical advantage over Malvina, though, he had to admit.  
  
Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say, as he soon found out once she'd grabbed his collar. Malvina was small, but she was inhumanly strong, and she swiftly brought him down to her level.  
  
"One more smart comment like that, snow-back, and I'll make you wish that I only throw you off a cliff. " Her breath fanned his chin, and it was hot and furious.  
  
Miraak looked unimpressed, or at least kept appearances well. "And how do you intend to do that?" He challenged her with his black stare, his tone dry.  
  
He would have made some other, more degrading comments, too. But something fierce in the way she held herself stopped him. No one could say Miraak wasn't a calculated man. Sure, he was bold, prideful even, but not foolish. Boldness was only good until it got you killed.  
  
"I'm the one paying for this trip." The woman hissed, fully comfortable invading Miraak's personal space. At least theoretically, Miraak should have been capable of physically overthrowing her, but it seemed more prudent not to put too much of a struggle. She looked ready to kill him. "I'll have you stripped naked, covered in slaughterfish fat and tossed overboard."  
  
Miraak stared icily at the suggestion. He would take death over such outlandish humiliation any day, and Malvina knew it. Miraak had to at least commend the woman's ingenuity. He did so grudgingly, silently. The man once again wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve having Malvina as his keeper. Other than all the mind-control and killing.  
  
"Have I made myself clear?" She huffed, the very picture of a Breton noblewoman throwing a fit. The image certainly fit her well. The First liked to think that she would look even better in chains at his feet, waiting to be executed. But Miraak would admit he'd had unrealistic expectations of women before.  
  
Someone — oh, who could it have been?— tugged at his hair, hard.  
  
"Hey, are you listening?" Yes, she was throwing fits alright. Splendid.  
  
The Nord inhaled deeply, not thrilled with his life at the moment. But then again, when was he ever? Contrary to popular beliefs, there were downsides to being a power-hungry master of dragons.  
  
"Yes." He drawled with a sneer. "I've gotten the picture." And he had. It seemed like he had to cut his fun short unless he wanted to spend a long time plucking feathers from sensitive areas.  
  
_'Was this really all I've been reduced to?'_ Miraak thought darkly. _'So easily put back in my place by a bratty slip of a woman?'_  
  
Where was a dragon when he needed to kill something? No, never mind that, where was that blasted Daedra Prince that allowed it to get so far?  
  
"Curse it, why was it so hard to be granted a swift death after betraying a deity?" Miraak lamented. _'No, he did not whine! It was not the same thing.'_  
  
"Who's the one talking to himself now, eh?"  
  
"Shut it!"  
  
She was so lucky he didn't have the power to sink ships with a motion of his hand anymore….  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
In the distance, the snow-covered walls and icy waters of the old city could already be seen. There was no common sea-bird in sight, but that was not unexpected. Windhelm was not a hold known for its welcoming ways. And that extended beyond the racism of its inhabitants. It was common knowledge that few species of fish thrived in the waters near its docks, and fewer still of birds. Though, there were the occasional Horkers.  
  
With all the blood she'd seen spilt inside those dreadful walls — which she'd had surprisingly little to do with— Malvina'd never thought she'd be happy to see all the greys and whites of the city's docks.  
  
"Every man on deck, we're casting anchor! Move out already!"  
  
The cabin boy, a lad with a shrill voice, announced far too loudly for Malvina's taste.  
  
"I wonder how much had changed since I've last visited this land." Her dark-eyes companion muttered, absent-mindedly, and it caught Malvina's attention. She a stole a glance at Miraak.  
  
Not really surprising, he didn't look excited. The woman wondered, ever so briefly, what sort of history Miraak might have with Skyrim's holds.  
  
Catching her looking at him, the Nord turned, and for a moment it seemed as if he wanted to say something to her. Malvina braced herself. She really didn't want to hear any more of his smart-talk. Fortunately, a shaggy-looking sailor interrupted before the man could speak. For that, she thanked Nocturnal.  
  
"Dragonborn, we're ready to unload the cargo. Do you want us to handle your luggage as well, or should we leave it with your…um, servant?"  
  


Miraak growled — actually growled— and Malvina laughed as the Imperial made himself scarce in record time.

Malvina looked up at the stone walls and made a note to herself to force Miraak to carry all the heavy stuff.

  
"So…this is it?" The First Dragonborn gestured to the city with a furrowed brow. And if he wasn't so sensitive about being accused of sulking, the Breton would have commented on his sullen tone again.  
  
Malvina smiled broadly, for once unbothered by his moodiness. "Yes, this is it. Welcome to Skyrim!"  
  
It actually didn't feel bad to be home; not bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and we're in Skyrim! Who was looking forward to this? 
> 
> Also, I wanted to thank everyone for the support and comments and hope you're enjoying the journey so far. :)


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